


Imagine

by katehathaway



Series: Only Everything [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ballroom dancing scene like in Beauty and the Beast, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Good Draco Malfoy, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by To All The Boys I've Loved Before, Mostly T but M content at the very end, Mutual Pining, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24736600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katehathaway/pseuds/katehathaway
Summary: This is roughly based on the plot of "To All the Boys I've Loved Before".Hermione and Ron have broken up again. For good this time. In hopes of some form of therapeutic relief, Hermione writes owls to all of her past loves. Even the ones who didn't know she thought of them as so. She never intended on actually sending them, but now that the men know, what is she going to do?Post-Hogwarts, EWE.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Only Everything [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788676
Comments: 8
Kudos: 145





	Imagine

**Author's Note:**

> Although this story is rated M, it is mostly T until the very end. 
> 
> It was originally uploaded in four separate installments, so you will see the breaks for each part throughout the story.

* * *

**Part I**

* * *

"Hermione?" Ginny called tentatively, searching for her in their flat.

She peered into the girl's room. Clothes were strewn all over the usually tidy space, taking up much of the floor and bed. The bed itself was unmade and had several chocolate wrappers, dirty tissues, and ripped up photographs all over it. The pile of clothing on the bed was suspiciously pulsating.

Ginny tip toed around the mess on the floor and poked at the pile of clothes with her wand. Her nose wrinkled up at the smell. With a swift flick of her wand, the room was organizing itself. Clothes found themselves in laundry bins while rubbish found itself in the normal bins.

Hermione hiccupped and looked up to see Ginny standing over her, upside down. She flipped over onto her stomach and sniffled.

"Ah, come on, Hermione . . ." She mustered a weak smile for her forlorn flatmate. "It'll be alright. You're better off without him anyway."

The young witch rubbed at the tears falling down her face. "Easy for you to say, you and Harry are doing just fine."

Ginny shuffled uneasily. Her and Harry _were_ doing rather well at the moment. He was moving up in the Aurors, and she was a week or so away from the first match of her first season with the Holyhead Harpies.

"That's no excuse for you to act like _this._ " She sat at the edge of the bed and raised her hand to attempt to comfort Hermione by brushing a hand through her hair, but at the sight of it, thought better of it.

"I'm _coping_!" Hermione said, aghast.

"I know, Mione, I know." She held her hand, looking down at the floor as she mumbled, "But you let him get to you these the past three times you two broke up, too."

Hermione grimaced, "This time it was _for real_. He made it very clear we weren't getting back together; besides I don't want to. He was such an arse about it."

Ginny sighed and stood up, moving to leave the room. "Fine, fine!"

She gave a sorrowful look to her friend, "At least take a shower and put a comb through your hair, would you? Then, you can go back to eating all of the chocolate frogs you want."

Hermione pouted. _What does she know about coping with break ups_?

She reached for a petite, velvet box hidden deep under her bed and dumped its contents out on her newly made up bed. It was her most secret and prized possessions. It contained the love letters she'd written over the years.

There were five in total:

Sam Lewis from primary school; after he'd picked up books she dropped in the hallway.

Draco Malfoy; after he was kind to her on the train to Hogwarts before their first year began.

Victor Krum; after he'd asked her to the Yule Ball.

Harry Potter; after they'd gotten close on their hunt for horcruxes and danced in the tent.

Finally, Ron Weasley; after they'd defeated the basilisk and shared a passionate kiss.

She wrote one whenever she had feelings so intense, she didn't know what else to do about them.

It no longer hurt her to look at many of the letters that she'd written over the years. If she was being honest with herself, she no longer felt as strongly about the guys she had written them for.

Except, perhaps, the most recent one.

Picking out the most recently written love note; she bit her lip. She poured herself a glass of wine and lay back opening the letter and reading it to herself. It was the love letter she'd written for Ron when they first started dating.

Rereading the letters helped remind her how passionate she had felt about the men in the beginning. How all-consuming. It served as a strong reminder that she would be able to find such a profound connection with someone new . . . eventually.

Hermione had no intentions of ever sending the letter to Ron, much less to any of the others. It was just for her. To understand how she felt.

She carelessly stuffed the letters back in the box, but she couldn't clasp it shut. In frustration, she launched the box across the room at her dresser and let it fall to the floor, its contents spilling out.

When she woke the next morning, she was groggy and disoriented. _How much_ _had she had to drink?_

Pressing her fingers to her temples, she fumbled around for her wand on the nightstand. Next to her wand she found a glass of water and a small homemade potion.

 _Ginny_ , she thought sweetly.

Despite her cool reserve to Hermione's methods of coping, Ginny was actually quite supportive of her friend.

Hermione made a mental note to thank her with a new pair of shoes or something or another before peeling off her clothes and hopping in the shower.

"Mione!" Ginny called, poking her head into the room. "You alive?"

She entered at the sound of the water running and exhaled a sigh of relief. _Finally_ , she thought.

Ginny noted the neatly written envelopes on the floor and tucked them under her arm before exiting the room. She had errands to run and would do her friend the favor of sending these by owl for her. It was likely Hermione had meant to but seeing as she hadn't left her room over the past weekend, Ginny doubted it would get done soon if she didn't send them for her.

* * *

The following day at the Ministry headquarters was a bit brutal for Hermione. It was her first day back since Ron had broken up with her; she was actively avoiding places in the building they used to frequent.

The dining hall, devastatingly, was one of them.

She used to look forward to their lunches, usually accompanied by Harry, because despite working in the same department, Hermione often went the entire work day without seeing either of them.

Although, at the moment, she was quite glad for that fact. Running into Ron was the last thing she wanted to do today.

Since the cafeteria was out of the question, a new location to enjoy her lunch would have to be discovered.

Pulling out her favorite book, determinedly _not_ a romantic novel, she settled into a seat in the small, hidden library behind the Obliviator Headquarters. That didn't last long because soon enough a wizard came over to shush her and pointed at a sign that clearly read "Soft Food Only".

She grimaced at her carrots. _Traitors_ , she mumbled to herself.

After tirelessly wandering about the building, she ended up back at their level. Behind a set of double doors, across from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Auror Headquarters, and down another passage, she found herself sitting among Muggle artifacts in a shabby, dimly lit broom cupboard.

_Fucking lovely._

"Granger?"

Hermione snapped her head up to see grey, clear eyes scrutinizing her. She wanted to disappear into a very deep, dark hole and never resurface.

"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" she snapped, trying to maintain _some_ dignity.

He raised his eyebrows and hands defensively. His tone was calm and cool, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Who spit in your coffee this morning?"

She fidgeted in her seat, shoving the novel behind her so that he couldn't mock her for it. Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited for him to continue.

He shook his head at her, pressing his lips firmly together.

"Just dropping this off," he chucked a lighter into the box beside her.

"Right," she muttered.

He leaned against the doorway, his long legs extended out in front of him, nearly touching her own. "What are you doing in here, anyway, Granger?"

His hips pointed towards her in a way that made it difficult for her eyes not to fixate on them.

"Inventory." She squeaked, trying, and failing, to come off nonchalant.

To her surprise, he spared her the trauma of mocking her blatant lie.

"Well," he pretended to inspect his cuticles, "Have fun with that."

"Sorry about Astoria." She blurted out. A blush crept over her cheeks as a frown formed on his face.

Malfoy hastily took up a stoic expression, trying not to let her know how that comment had made him feel.

"Her loss." He quipped.

Hermione bit her lip, afraid to say anything more, dare she ruin his good mood any further.

As he turned to leave, he met her gaze and gave her a curt nod, "See you 'round, Granger. Try not to get lost on your way out."

Hermione buried her head in her hands. _Perfect_ , she groaned, internally, _just perfect_.

* * *

"That's game," Harry remarked, placing his hand of cards openly on the table.

Hermione and Ginny shook their heads, taking a long sip of wine each. It was the third round Harry had won in a row. The three of them sat around the floor of the coffee table in Ginny and Hermione's flat.

There was a moment of silence, followed by Hermione loudly sighing.

"What do you think Ron is up to tonight?"

Ginny and Harry exchanged a weary glance. She noticed the way Ginny elbowed Harry before he cleared his throat.

"Err," He paused, ruffling his already unkempt hair. "Nothing, I suppose."

At Ginny's pointed look, he shrugged ever so slightly. She hung her head and tried to smile genuinely at Hermione.

She bit her lip, wanting to take their hint to shut up about him, but she couldn't help it.

"Should we owl him, invite him over?" she asked, shifting uncomfortably in her position across from the happy couple. "It's odd not having him here."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Ginny offered, maintaining a polite tone.

She took another sip of wine, needing the liquid confidence booster, "Why not?"

Ginny gave her a knowing look, then reached across the table to grasp Hermione's hand in her own.

"Don't you think it will be a bit," Ginny searched for the right word, "Awkward?"

She thought about it for a moment. Undoubtedly it would be awkward, but she missed him. So, she decided to play it off coolly.

She pulled her hand away from Ginny's and waved it as if waving off the audacity that it would be awkward to have her ex-lover present for game night, "Not at all, besides, you're both here!"

"Right," Ginny started, "But don't you find it a tad odd that it's a Saturday night and you're spending it playing rounds of card games and third-wheeling?"

Her tone was light, polite as ever, but Hermione couldn't help but wince. She knew that Ginny meant it in the nicest way possible, but _third-wheeling_ wasn't exactly something she enjoyed hearing from her best friends.

"No," she spun her index finger around the rim of the wine glass, avoiding making eye contact with either of them. "I don't mind playing cards, if anything it's proving to be quite the challenge with Harry. And I love hanging out with both of you."

"I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad," Harry interjected, finally coming to Ginny's aid, "But, Hermione, we _cancelled_ plans to be here tonight, and well, you're a bright, beautiful, _single_ young witch and I'm pretty sure you didn't have anything else going on. Am I right?"

He _was_ right.

"That was harsh, Harry." Ginny pressed her lips together, looking from him to her flatmate. "We just want you to be happy."

Hermione didn't reply. Instead, she took a long swig of her wine, finishing the glass. Then, she stood up to go and top it off in the kitchen.

* * *

Bundling up her scarf around her neck, Hermione waved her wand and apparated with a soft crack to the regional quidditch grounds.

The autumn breeze tossed her brunette curls about her face as she squinted at the arena that came into view. She set off to find a spot in the stands that would allow her to support Ginny at her first official match as a Holyhead Harpy, while also giving her an opportunity to catch up on her novel.

As she came up from the top of the stairs, she noticed a familiar face approaching her. Upon realizing she had no chance of avoiding his path without being _completely_ obvious about it, she tensed up and swallowed deeply, intensely aware of how little time she'd taken to get ready this morning.

"Granger," Malfoy growled, "We need to talk. _Alone_."

He grasped her arm tightly, leading her slightly away from the main path to the stands, but still within view. He released his hold on her to run his hands through his fine, perfectly groomed hair.

"Look," he told her, clearly frustrated. "I wanted to say that I appreciate your apparent taste for the finer things in life, really, but it's never going to happen, Granger."

She coughed, "Pardon, _what_?"

"Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Don't lie to me." He reprimanded.

Her hands crossed over her chest, defiantly. "I can't lie to you, Malfoy, if I have no idea what you're even talking about."

He sighed, his voice lowered, "From what I remember, and that's not much, per se, because we were _eleven_ , but . . ."

He was gesturing towards her with one hand, but in the other she spotted a loose piece of parchment with his name written _in her hand writing_ at the top.

She suddenly felt ill.

Her head throbbed, heart pounding in her chest. She found it immensely difficult to breathe, all of a sudden. She felt her knees give out beneath her. The sky spun, and then, there was blackness.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he bellowed.

Malfoy, having as quick reflexes as he did, managed to catch her before she hit the metal floor of the stands.

"Granger?" He called to her, willing her to come to.

" _Granger!_ " He hissed with a bit more fervor.

When Hermione finally came to, she blinked a few times before meeting Malfoy's darkened, stormy eyes. Inches from her face.

Malfoy, still holding onto her, extremely aware of the placement of his hands on her waist, cocked his head to the side, "You ok?"

"What happened?" she croaked.

"You fainted," he pulled her into a sitting position, kneeling beside her. "Rather spectacularly, I might add."

He smirked. He charmed a glass of water to appear in his free hand, then passed the glass to her.

"Drink." It was a demand, not a request, she noticed.

She took a tentative sip, surprised, once again, by his kind gesture. She closed her eyes and let her head fall into her palms, finding herself embarrassed in front of _Draco Malfoy_ far more often than she'd like, recently.

When she picked her head up, she looked over Malfoy's shoulder to see none other than Ron striding towards them from farther down the path. Her eyes widened in horror at the piece of parchment in his hand.

" _For fucks sake_ ," she panicked.

She didn't want to face him after knowing exactly what was written in that letter.

Her eyes locked with Malfoy's for a brief instant before she threw herself onto him, pinning his body onto the metal floor with her own.

Hermione slipped both of her hands behind his neck and held onto him tightly as she pressed her lips to his. They were unexpectedly warm and soft, inviting her to deepen the kiss, should she dare. His hands found her waist, his grip tightening as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. She traced his bottom lip with her tongue, then pulled away from him vehemently.

Giving him a curt nod and a mumbled gratuity, she stood up and sprinted towards the stairs behind her.

Leaving a speechless Malfoy and an even more confused Weasley to fend for themselves.

"Mione!" Ron tried to shout after her, but it was too late, she had disappeared below the stands.

Malfoy stood, dusted off his coat, and turned to face whatever it was she had been running from. His eyes met with Weasleys and narrowed at the sight of the parchment in his hand.

 _Interesting_ , he thought.

* * *

**Part II**

* * *

The wine was bitter, but it was also slightly, _slightly_ calming her nerves; so, Hermione welcomed it, finishing her first glass quickly and pouring another. The general capability to sit still or to stop her legs from shaking proved nearly impossible.

She alternated between pacing the living room and sitting on the sofa wondering what the bloody hell she's going to do about the three circulating letters.

Her room had been torn apart the moment she'd apparated back into the apartment from the quidditch match. The remaining letters were nowhere to be found; only the empty velvet box remained.

Upon searching the rest of the flat, Hermione found two of the letters on the floor below the mail slot of the front door. There was an intense sigh of relief at the returned mail. _Thank Merlin for incorrect addresses_ , she thought.

There was a minor disturbance in the air as Harry and Ginny appeared into the room.

Harry let go of Ginny's hand and moved to sit next to Hermione on the living room sofa.

"Where were you earlier?" Ginny asked, sitting on the floor across from them.

She mumbled, "I . . . Err . . ."

There was a hint of a smile creeping up on Harry's face as he said, "I thought we agreed to sit together? Ron and I were looking for you, in fact, he seemed quite nervous and, if I'm not mistaken, _eager_ to see you?"

Hermione tried to keep her tone even. "Did he say anything to you?"

"No, _is_ there something to say? I mean if you two are back together again, you can just tell us." He said.

Her eyes widened, "Oh no, no! No. _No_." She shook her head repeatedly. "It's not that."

"Good." Ginny said while Harry simultaneously shouted, "So there _is_ something going on! Well come on then, Mione, spit it out."

She pursed her lips, wondering just how much she should tell them. They'll certainly think that she's bonkers for writing _five_ love letters to various men. Especially since Harry was one of the recipients. She would definitely have to explain how that happened, and obviously Ron's, but she was sure she could spare herself the embarrassment of including the other three.

"Well," Hermione started, "It's quite embarrassing, actually, because I may have written Ron a love letter."

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look of confusion. "Ok?"

"It may or may not have been extremely idealized, explicit, romantic . . . I wrote it when we first got together, sort of as a way to understand how I was feeling. It was . . . err . . . very intense?"

Ginny cocked her head to the side, "I still don't see how this is embarrassing? You two dated for quite a while."

"Right, but we've broken up so many times and the letter was . . . well . . . _very_ romantic. Quite heartfelt, mushy, and all of that corny nonsense teenage girls are stereotyped to dream of. It's embarrassing to have him read that after he only just broke up with me."

She bit her lip, waiting for either of them to break the silence.

"Ooh," Ginny gave her a crooked frown. "That's unpleasant."

Harry put an arm around Hermione and pulled her into a hug, "It'll be alright!"

"There's more," she sighed, looking up at Harry, "I wrote one for you, too."

" _What?"_ He and Ginny asked incredulously.

Hermione realized how that may have come off and immediately spoke up, "Oh no! Not like Ron's, well, not really. You see I wrote it while we were hunting horcruxes back in the day, and there was one night, I don't know, we were both rather lonely, and we danced, and you were so kind. . ." She tried, and failed, to slow her breathing, realizing that she was making it worse.

Her arms waved frantically, "It was silly! I just felt very loved at the time, but you are my best friend, Harry! And Ginny! I would never . . . I had no intentions of sending it, I don't even feel that way anymore!"

Harry and Ginny were both stifling their laughter, then he shook his head at Hermione's frazzled state and reached over to hug her.

"It's alright, Mione! I believe you."

Ginny, with a gaping smile on her face, said, "How many of these letters did you bloody write?"

"Just the two." She lied.

"Wait . . . Did you put these letters in slightly yellow envelopes and address them?" Ginny asked.

Hermione's eyes widened, "Yes. How did you - "

" _Fuck_." Ginny offered a pained smile, her eyes pinched, "I think I'm the one who sent them."

"YOU WHAT?" Hermione sat up straight and nearly spilled what was left of her drink.

Ginny leaned instinctively away from her, "I'm sorry! It's just that you barely left your room, so I thought I was doing you a favor, they were just right there. They were already addressed and sealed and I . . ." Her voice trailed off.

She peered at Hermione.

"There were five of them, though."

Hermione bit her lip, then tried to sink into the sofa as she mumbled something incoherent.

"Hermione?" Harry said, glancing back and forth between her and Ginny, not fully understanding what just happened.

"I lied." Hermione closed her eyes briefly, "I wrote _five_ letters."

"For fuck's sake!" He stood up and ran a hand through his especially disheveled hair.

Hermione looked sideways at Ginny, but the girl was on the floor hysterically laughing as the enormity of the situation dawned on her.

"Oh, you're _so_ fucked if these other guys read them." She called out between laughing fits.

Hermione grimaced. "I _know_ that, Ginny, thank you!"

A knock at the door caused all three of them to exchange questioning looks before Ginny rose from her position on the floor to squint through the peephole.

"It's Ron." She stated, turning to face Hermione and Harry.

"Why didn't he just apparate in?" Harry asked.

Hermione jumped up from her seat and flushed under the hidden accusation, "I redid the wards when we broke up. I was afraid he'd pop in unexpectedly and see what a mess I'd become."

Ginny nodded at Hermione, she had seen her at her worst and understood. Her hand hovered above the doorknob as Ron knocked again, "Want me to let him in?"

_The way the sun shines through your hair creates a vibrant color so enticing, so mesmerizing, that like a moth to the flame, it takes everything I have not to touch it._

She felt her head spin and panic set at the thought of facing Ron.

With a swift movement, she reached for her wand and called out, "You never saw me; I wasn't here," before disappearing from the room with a soft crack.

* * *

Draco had been sitting at the bar for nearly an hour when he had just about come to the conclusion that he was the biggest fool of them all. Thinking that Granger would come out for a drink. Given the day she'd had, or at least the events that he had witnessed, Draco would most certainly have gone out for a drink . . . or several.

Perhaps not to a pub quite as sticky and desolate as this one, but he knew that Potter and she-Weasley frequented this establishment, so it was just as likely Granger did, too.

He grimaced as he sent the remainder of the firewhiskey in his glass to the back of his throat. His lips stung at the contact and he instinctively ran his tongue along his lower lip.

His lips had similarly stung earlier when Granger had pulled hers away from his.

He silently cursed himself for that thought, but then again, that was why he found himself at this _Godric-foresaken_ pub.

He wanted to know . . . No. He _needed_ to know what that was about.

Draco moved to stand and leave, it was evident that Granger would not be making an appearance that evening, but he instantly sat back down as she swung open the door to the pub and stomped over to the other end of the very empty bar.

She sat down at a stool and immediately let her forehead sink to hit the bar top; her curls falling around her. He frowned at the thought of her hair touching _whatever_ was causing this place to be so damn _sticky_ , then internally reprimanded himself again.

He watched as she reluctantly picked her head up and signaled to the bartender for a drink, which she began to chug the moment it was placed in front of her.

Pleased with himself at predicting the likelihood of her showing up to the pub, _this_ pub, he called out to her loudly enough that he knew she'd hear it clearly from her end of the bar.

"Hey, Granger."

She consequently spit up her drink.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Draco moved to her side to pat her on the back as she coughed.

When she finished clearing her throat, he sat in the barstool next to her

The bartender came over to them with a glass of water for Hermione, then nodded to Draco at her side, "Your friend want anything to drink?"

"He's not my friend." She snapped.

Draco ignored that, leaning comfortably back in the seat, "I'll have firewhiskey, neat. Cheers."

She surveyed him, but he worked to keep his facial expressions as neutral as possible.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She asked.

His eyes flickered to the glass the bartended had just placed in front of him, "Having a drink, Granger, what does it look like I'm doing?"

Her chest heaved as she dramatically sighed, "I meant, what are you doing _here_?"

She gestured around the room.

"It's a pub."

"Yes," she sighed again, taking a sip of her drink, "but it's _my_ pub."

His eyes glinted; she was catching on.

_Fuck._

"I didn't know you owned this place."

She gave him an exasperated look of annoyance, to which he took utter delight in. She was too easily wound up.

"Don't be dense. This is the _only_ pub I ever go to, and I've never seen you here."

He felt his heart rate increase and silently prayed that she couldn't tell.

"You should really be more observant of your surroundings, Granger," he jerked his thumb behind him to where he previously sat at the other end of the bar, "I was settled there _before_ you even got here."

She narrowed her eyes at him, searching for any sign of deceit. Apparently, she found none because the tension in her shoulders visibly released.

Draco sipped at his drink, "Listen, about earlier - "

She cut him off, "Do you really want to do this right now?"

"Yes." His grey eyes darkened.

"Listen," She turned to face him, their knees brushed up against each other, "Draco Malfoy, I'm not trying to date you."

He blinked a few times, nearly stuttering, "Your mouth is saying something now, but earlier your mouth _said_ something completely different."

"You mean when I kissed you or when I wrote that letter? Because . . ."

She trailed off at the amusing look on his face, but when she asked what was so funny, he only shook his head.

"Fascinating how there are _two_ prime examples of your interest in me, and yet, you claim to _not_ want to date me?"

Her lips pursed, glaring at the smug look on his face.

"Here's the thing, Malfoy," her tone mimicking that of a primary teacher whose just about had it with her misbehaving students, "I don't actually like you. I just had to make it _look_ like I did so that the person that I _actually_ like wouldn't think that I liked them."

He nodded curtly, "Right. Weasley."

She gaped at him, "How do _you_ know - "

"Aren't you two an item, or whatever? Was that was happened, you wanted to make him jealous? Because I completely understand why you attacked me, I have that effect on a lot of girl's boyfriends."

Hermione stuttered incoherently, attempting to digest what he'd just said while trying not to get too distracted by the gorgeous, mischievous grin on his face.

"I – what – no – we broke up – _jealous_ – excuse me?" She finally spat out.

Draco enjoyed the frustration. It was amusing that such a brilliant mind could be so confounded.

He raised a brow at her, waiting for her to gather her thoughts.

"We're broken up. I'm _not_ trying to make him jealous; I just can't have him believing I still have feelings for him after what he put me through. Certainly not to the extent that bloody letter made it seem. Bless Harry for being so understanding. _He_ didn't even _know_ about his letter when we spoke."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Ron and I weren't the only ones receiving love letters from you? Wow, you really think you're special and then you find out she wrote letters to three guys." He feigned affliction.

It wasn't all that difficult for him to pretend like it didn't bother him. _Because it did_ , a conniving voice echoed in the back of his mind. He promptly told it to _fuck off_.

A smile formed on her lips at his perplexed expression; she sipped at her drink, "Actually, I wrote five letters, so don't go feeling all that special, Malfoy."

" _Five_?" He gaped, unable to hide a smirk. "Fuck, Granger. You're a maneater."

Hermione was unable to hide the blush that settled on her cheeks at his genuine compliment.

"Who else did you write letters for, then?" He prompted. Curious would be an understatement.

She shifted in her seat, debating whether or not to tell him. Then, again, she quite enjoyed the look on his face when he'd heard she'd written so many letters. It felt good to not be ridiculed or pitied for her somewhat childish display of emotion.

"If I tell you, will you let it be? I'd rather this not end up in the tabloids."

He shrugged, his eyes never breaking from hers. After a breathless moment, she gave in.

"Okay. Sam Lewis."

" _Who_?" He racked his brain for some nobody he'd likely overlooked in the library or something, knowing her.

"Primary school." He shook his head and she continued, "The other one was for Victor Krum."

He scoffed, " _That -_ "

Draco promptly cut himself off. Best not to talk poorly of the quidditch champion, and if he were being honest with himself, which he certainly was not, it was because he feared she may turn around and belittle _his own_ quidditch skills as an effort to defend the guy.

Hermione stood up and moved to leave the bar, "Right, well, I'm going to go now."

"Wait," He stood up beside her, their bodies only inches from each other. He could smell the sweet scent of roses in her hair. "Let me walk you home. You've had a few drinks and probably shouldn't be apparating right now."

She tilted her head to meet his grey, stormy gaze. It would be yet _another_ of his many recently kind gestures towards her. But he was right. It would be unsafe for her to apparate at the moment, something could go horribly sideways.

"That's fine, I suppose." There was no way he was getting any more gratuity than that. Merlin-forbid his smug look attained more credibility.

The two of them left the pub and turned down the dimly lit street leading to her flat. The silence was comfortable; both were enjoying the quiet night, and much to their mutual denial, each other's company.

Outside her flat, she reached for her wand to unlock the front door, but turned to face him before doing so.

"Sorry I kissed you." She offered breathlessly.

His lips twitched into a slight smirk, "Could've been worse."

Despite her reservations of letting another man get close enough to break her heart so soon after her last heartache, she found herself a bit melancholic at having to leave him.

"Goodnight." She turned and raised her wand, chanting _alohomora_.

Draco interjected, "What are you going to do about Ron, and his letter?" He stepped closer to her.

She sighed, "Tell him the truth, I suppose. Not much else I can do."

"Do you want to get back together with him?" He continued, finding his control powerless against his own curiosity.

Hermione shrugged, offering a half smile. "That's nothing you need to concern yourself with, Malfoy."

She pushed the door open, getting one foot over the threshold before she felt her arm pull and her body jerk back to face the tall blond.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he starts, his grip loose but steady on her arm, "What if you don't tell him the truth? What if you, _we_ , let people think that we _are_ dating?" He paused, "For a little while at least, and not just Ron, I mean everyone."

"What are you on about?" She muttered, still standing in the doorway but unwilling to break away from grasp. Too intrigued.

Draco had thought very carefully about this on the walk over to her flat. Astoria had gone crazy when she'd heard about Hermione and him kissing. She'd sent him several owls and had even demanded to know what exactly he thought he was doing.

He didn't care for the way she'd so cruelly ended their relationship and had his mindset on making her rue the day she'd damaged his reputation. She'd certainly damaged more than just his reputation, but of course he wasn't willing to admit that; not even to himself.

Instead, he would settle for simple revenge. She'd had a cow over Hermione and him sharing a kiss. Just imagine how she'd react if she heard Hermione and he were in a relationship. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up, especially since he now knew Granger didn't _actually_ care for him.

Supposedly.

At Hermione's pointed look, he shrugged evasively, "Let's just say it could be of some use to me. It might be good for you too; make Weasley suffer a bit."

She tried not to watch his lips as he spoke, "So you just want to use me as your pawn, then?"

"Ah, Granger. See, _you_ used _me_ as your pawn first." He leaned closer to her; their faces so close he could feel her breath. "When you attacked me, remember?" His eyes glinted.

" _Attacked_ is a stretch."

There was movement from behind the half-open door to the flat, and Ginny poked her head out, fully swinging the door open in the process.

"Hermione, that you?" She asked.

Hermione locked eyes with Draco for a brief moment following Ginny's appearance before his lips were on hers.

She tasted the firewhiskey on his breath, felt one hand at her waist and the other tangled in her curls as he pressed her against the wall. His tongue slid along hers, but the rush of the kiss ended as quickly as it had started, and he pulled away from her.

Draco dragged his mouth down with his fingers, then he nodded to her and to Ginny before he turned and briskly walked down the hall.

"How long have _you two_ been hanging out?" Ginny said, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Hermione pushed past her, ignoring the arrogant look on her friend's face as well as the mocking question.

* * *

_We need to talk._

It was the third owl Ron sent her that evening, but it was no more indicative of his feelings towards the situation than the past two had been.

Hermione groaned, crumpling it up and tossing it in the bin across the room. She dramatically threw herself across her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

She wished she knew what he was thinking, what he could possibly want to say to her. Yet, every time that he had come near her, she'd bolted. It was the most peculiar thing. Deep down she understood that facing him again, especially in regard to the letter, was horrifying because the likelihood of him rejecting her _again_ so soon after their break up was astronomical.

Besides, what would he say about her kissing Malfoy at the match?

It was unnerving, the effect that kiss had had on her. She'd felt how comfortably she fit into the shape of his body. How _easily_ in sync they had been.

Then, later at the bar, she couldn't stop the churning in her stomach every time he looked at her with those dreamy, stormy eyes.

Not to mention how the most recent time he'd kissed her had made her feel. So . . . _alive_. Much more so than she thought possible. She touched the tips of her fingers to her lips instinctively.

 _No_ , she scolded herself.

There was no way she could ever go there. It was entirely probable that he would hurt her if she got too attached to him, and even a fake relationship couldn't protect her from the possibility of developing real feelings.

It was a brilliant idea, though. If it worked. But there were a lot of contingencies and she was not fond of such things.

She'd have to settle for handling this the old-fashioned way: with loads of chocolate, wine and romantic comedies.

* * *

Hermione pushed her way through the several wizards standing around the atrium, blocking her exit from the fireplace. She was late.

Admittedly, she was _never_ late, so it would be perfectly understandable for her boss to give her a slight reprimand and let her go about her day. But she was Hermione Granger. Disrespecting authority, even disrespecting schedules, was not in her forte.

She'd been up half the night unable to shut her brain off. The insomnia led to her missing the first three alarms she'd set and ultimately resulting in the messy state she was currently functioning at.

Her hair, more unruly than usual, was pulled back into a ponytail, but as she fast-walked through the atrium towards the lifts, she found herself constantly pushing loose curls out of her face.

Hermione was in such a rush to make it to her desk that she'd nearly, _nearly_ missed Ron's figure to her immediate left. She came to a halt, and felt the usual panic at the sight of him set in.

Except, he didn't see her.

He leaned in closely, _very closely_ , to a young witch at his side. His freckled palm grazing the small of her back as he tucked his head into the nape of the woman's neck.

Hermione stepped back, shocked.

Her cheeks were hot, her chest heaving dramatically. The sound of her heart pounding felt so loud she wondered why anyone wasn't blatantly staring at her, wondering where the booming, rhythmic sound was coming from.

How dare he. _How dare he_.

He'd broken up with her _less than two weeks ago_ , and yet, here he was _snogging_ this witch in the middle of the atrium.

She blinked back tears, consciously resisting the urge to whack him over his thick skull with her briefcase. _The audacity_ , she hissed.

Unable to stand the sight of Ron's hand on the witch's arse any longer, Hermione peeled her eyes away and darted for the nearest lift, willing her brain to burn the image from the back of her mind.

She slipped into the lift just as its doors were closing, actively trying to calm her breathing so as not to cause a scene. She'd have to break a few things when she got to her desk, she concluded. To help get her through the work day.

"You alright, Granger? You look like hell." A familiar voice whispered, moving to stand beside her in the relatively sparse lift.

Her eyes settled on Draco's lips for a moment before traipsing up to meet his grey eyes, a look of what seemed to be genuine concern plastered on his face.

_No, I'm perfectly alright. I didn't just have the most hectic, stressful morning. Followed by the fact that my very recently ex-lover was groping a woman in the middle of the bloody atrium. Of course, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?_

She wanted to scream at him. Wanted him to understand. It occurred to her that he actually might. With Astoria.

The warm feeling of betrayal coursed through her veins, and she wished nothing more than for Ron to get a taste of what it felt like to be so humiliated. So _hurt_.

But, of course, she could do just that. Hadn't Malfoy provided her with such a method for revenge?

"Let's do this." She finally said to him.

He crooked one eyebrow at her, she secretly wondered how he did that, and replied, "You sure?"

"Absolutely." She huffed, resolute.

He smirked, then looked away from her with a slight rock from his toes to his heels. He was pleased.

When the lift doors opened to her floor, she stepped forward to exit, a new wave of confidence rolling over her.

Malfoy, on impulse, reached out and smacked her arse. When she gave a small yelp and snapped her neck around to face him, he supplied a smirk and tilted his chin up.

He made eye contact with Potter and Weasley who stood just outside the entrance to their section of the floor and winked at them as Granger scurried past them to her department.

 _Game on_ , he mused.

* * *

**Part III**

* * *

There was a deafening blow of a horn as a boat rolled its way down River Thames; to which many tourists crossing the bridge stopped to pull out their cameras and capture the truly mundane, inconsequential departure of a London tugboat.

Some will claim it was to capture the experience – the _culture_ – of their visit, but that simply wasn't true. Whether they believed it or not.

"Ugh," Draco groaned, "I hate Muggle London."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his dramatic tone, " _You're_ the one who wanted to come up here."

The only reason he even took her to this little spot in the park was because he knew she had absolutely nothing better to do during her lunch break, nor anyone better to spend it with. He'd observed as much the other day when he found her eating her lunch – and reading, though she'd certainly tried to hide that part from him – in the cupboard of the Muggle Artefacts Office. He thoughtthis would be a nice gesture, but hell if he was going to admit that.

He stared off into the foggy haze that had settled over the river, as it so often did this time of year, and took a loud bite of his apple; chewing at a purposefully heightened volume that he knew would irritate her.

"Not like you had anywhere better to go, unless you were planning on spending lunch in the cupboard again?"

Her cheeks turned a deep rouge color, "I have friends I could sit with." She protested, narrowing her eyes at him while picking at her salad. "There's Harry –"

"Someone who isn't attached at the hip to Weasley," he cut in.

She put her fork down and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at up at him with a defensive glare, "I don't see you running to go sit with your friends for lunch."

"I don't have friends here, Granger." He took another bite of his apple, peering down at her. He moved from his position on top of the wooden table to the edge of it, planting his feet on the bench portion. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, so that their eyes were somewhat level. "I don't have friends," he repeated, a teasing grin stretching across his lips, "I have you."

Her breath caught for a moment, but she quickly regained composure and broke away from his luring silvery eyes to focus on stabbing a tomato.

"You don't _have_ me." She corrected.

He slid down onto the bench beside her, "What would you like to call this little arrangement, then?"

"I'm not sure," She responded honestly, chewing at her bottom lip. "We're _not_ friends."

He noticed her avoiding his gaze and laughed inwardly, reveling in her obvious determination to not like him. Nevertheless, he continued with his flirtatious banter.

"No, we're not friends, Granger." When she finally glanced over at him, he gave her a devilish smirk, "Friends don't kiss the way we do."

Grimacing, she said, "Speaking of that,"

He stood up and walked over to the edge of the park and chucked the apple as far out into the river as he could manage, watching it disappear into the fog. There would be no satisfactory _plop_ as it landed in the rushing water; especially, not over the noise of the city. He turned back to face Hermione, placing one leg up on the bench and leaned towards her with both arms balancing on the raised knee.

She pulled out a notepad and pen from her bag, then craned her neck to look up at him.

"What's that?" He asked.

"I was thinking," she replied, "It would be a good idea to write down some rules for this . . . relationship of ours. Like a contract."

"Rules?" He frowned. "A contract?"

"Yes."

He let out a low whistle, adjusting his stance so that he now sat directly across from her on the picnic bench, "Wow, you really know how to woo a guy, don't you?"

"I'm not here to woo you, Malfoy. We're doing this to make our ex's immensely jealous, remember? Besides, I think it's important that we're on the same page about certain . . . things."

"What things, Granger?"

"For one, I don't want you to kiss me anymore." She tried to keep her voice as even as possible. Better to not let him know how she really felt about him kissing her.

" _What?_ " He exclaimed. He shook his head at her, "No."

"What do you mean, 'No'. This isn't a request."

He cocked his head to the side, raising one brow at her, "You're telling me you didn't like it?"

 _It wasn't that. Godric knows it wasn't that,_ she thought to herself. In fact, she actually really _did_ like when he kissed her. Sure, she'd only been with Ron, but she knew that the electrifying, captivating feeling that came over her when Malfoy touched her was rare. She'd heard Ginny complain enough about how disappointing other boys had been before Harry to know that much.

However alive his lips had made her feel recently it didn't negate the fact that it also scared her to death. She'd been too hurt over Ron to let herself get close to another man so soon, especially given the way Draco looked at her. Ron never looked at her like he did – hell, _nobody_ had ever looked at her the way he did when he pinned her up against the wall the other night. There was something dark and wanting in his eyes; it was almost as if he . . . _desired_ her.

No, she wasn't willing to risk letting him touch her, much less kiss her. Draco Malfoy was not the kind of man you went and got yourself attached to. She would be asking him to break her heart.

So, she lied.

"No," she answered, pressing her lips together and biting the inside of her cheek, "I didn't like it. In fact, it made me rather uncomfortable."

He leaned back and narrowed his eyes at her, not quite believing her.

"You kissed me first." He reminded her.

"That was different." She began writing the first rule down on the paper before her; she refused to meet his eyes. "This is non-negotiable."

"Fine. No kissing. But no one is going to believe we're in a relationship if I'm not allowed to touch you."

She sighed. He was right, of course.

"What if," she started, "we did other stuff?"

He grinned wickedly at her, "Other stuff, huh?"

She threw a tomato at his face, blushing, "Not _that_. For fuck's sake, Malfoy –"

He was fully grinning now, baring his perfectly white teeth and wiggling a suggestive brow at her. " _Fuck's sake?_ Oh, come on, Granger, now you're just doing it on purpose."

"Never mind," she grumbled, "You're useless."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on –" he composed himself, "Really, though, what other stuff? People _will_ get suspicious if I'm not allowed to touch you, so . . ."

Hermione chewed at her lip again. She was walking a very fine line.

"I'd rather you not kiss me on the mouth or anything invasive like that," – he tried not to wince as she said invasive – "but I suppose kissing on the cheek is all right. Hand-holding, that sort of thing. Minimal PDA, though."

He sighed. She was incorrigible.

"PDA?" He questioned.

"Public Display of Affection," she recited. "You've never heard of that? I would prefer if we didn't do too much of that. Instead, something more like how Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy act. You know, steal looks, light touches, but –"

" _Who_?" he asked, interrupting her nervous ramble.

"Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy?" At his blank stare, she continued. "Pride and Prejudice?" He shook his head at her. "Jane Austen?"

He slammed his palms against the table, "Bloody hell, Granger, no! I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, or who any of those people are."

She pursed her lips, "Well, that's perfectly unacceptable. I can't have my fake boyfriend not knowing who Jane bloody Austen is." She scribbled something below the first rule.

"Second rule: you're watching classic Muggle films with me, seeing as you're so uneducated with them."

"What the hell? No."

"Would you rather I ask you to _read_ classic Muggle novels, then?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, "No. Fine, fine. Films it is. But we can't tell anyone about this."

"About a silly film? What, because it's Muggle-related?" She asked condescendingly.

"No," he clarified, gesturing to the space between them. "About _us_. No one can know this is fake. It would tarnish my reputation," _especially since Astoria has already tried to ruin it beyond repair_ , he thought, internally.

Hermione nodded, "Agreed. It would be too humiliating for the both of us."

"That includes Ginny and Harry." He added.

"Obviously." She wrote the third rule down. "Anything else?"

He leaned forward and rested his chin on his intertwined fingers. He thought for a moment as he looked into her big, brown eyes. "I could bring you flowers every day, when we meet for lunch."

She blinked, startled, "You'd do that?"

"Sure," he pulled his attention away from her and pretended to inspect his perfectly manicured nail beds, "Astoria always complained that I never got her flowers, so if she hears that I bring them to you? She'll be livid."

Hermione tried to fight the sinking feeling in her stomach as she added it to the growing list.

"Also," he tapped the top of the pad, "You have to accompany me to any social functions my family throws. There will be many, I assure you, and they will not be enjoyable to say the least."

"Then you have to pick me up from my flat every morning and go to work with me," she countered. Then, she paused, narrowing her eyes at him. "What is it that do in the Ministry anyway?"

He blinked at her a few times and gave her an equally narrowed glare, "What is it that you _think_ I do, Granger?"

She pressed her lips together, a bit embarrassed to not know. Though she did recall him walking in on her –

"You work in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, don't you? You saw me in –" She abruptly cut herself off, not wanting to finish the statement and perhaps save herself additional embarrassment.

"You think," he scoffed, "that I work under _Arthur Weasley_? In the most boring department in the Ministry? Really?"

"Well, where _do_ you work, then?"

He stood up to pace beside the table, "I – you –" he stuttered, then quickly regained control of his thoughts. "Did it ever occur to you to ask yourself why I would be at that quidditch match where you so rudely attacked me?"

"No," she shook her head, "and for the last time, I did not _attack_ you."

"Well, it wasn't because I adore the Holyhead Harpies, I can tell you that." He shook his head and stopped pacing. He placed his palms on the edge of the table and leaning down so that their faces were only a breath away. "I work for the League Headquarters. I _have_ to go to those matches."

"Oh," she breathed, intensely aware of how close he was to her, of how intoxicating his cologne was as the scent of sandalwood surrounded her.

"All right," he moved to sit next to her, then took the pad and pen from her grasp, "If I have to show up to your apartment every fucking morning, _you_ ," – he pointed the end of the pen accusingly at her – "have to go with me to all the quidditch games I have to oversee." He proceeded to add the rule.

"But I _hate_ quidditch!" She protested.

"Well, I dislike Muggle films, so tough luck, sweetheart."

She shoved a forkful of lettuce into her mouth to hide her pout. This arrangement was sounding worse by the minute. _Why had she made this contract, again?_ She wondered.

"There's one more thing," he turned to face her, offering a wayward smile, "you also have to go to the Ministry gala with me."

 _The Ministry gala?_ She felt a rush of blood go to her head, leaving her a bit dizzy.

This particular event was one of the most profitable and elegant events that the Ministry ever hosted. It started the year after Voldemort was vanquished, in order to bring some much-needed celebration and light back into the Ministry after he'd left it starved and hollow. It began small, with only half of the departments even contributing, much less attending. But soon, along with the help of The Chosen One's annual attendance, the event soon became one of the most spectacular parties of the year; it remained invite only, extending only to plus-one's of Ministry employees.

"The gala is months away," she pointed out, "do you really think we'll still be doing this whole relationship thing by then?"

"I don't know," he paused. "Let's call it a contingency."

He noticed the frown forming on her face and went on, "Look, there's no way that you would go to the gala unescorted by the man you're supposedly dating. So, if we are still doing this by then, you have to let me escort you."

She met his steady gaze, unable to think of a good enough reason to combat his argument. Finally, she nodded.

He instantly brightened and then turned his attention back to the contract under his palm. He drew up two signature lines, included his, and then passed her the paper and pen. She reluctantly signed, wishing for a moment that she hadn't brought up the notion for a contract and rules.

But when she looked up to meet his silver, sparkling eyes, she swallowed that thought, suddenly thankful for what little distance existed between them. She silently prayed he couldn't hear her heart flutter as his lips twitched into a mischievous smirk.

* * *

Hermione drummed her fingertips on the kitchen island, creating a soft, rhythmic thudding noise against the granite. The word was on the tip of her tongue; she knew what it was they were asking, but she couldn't _quite_ remember its name.

Seven down. Eight letters. Third letter was 'b' –

"Oh!" She gasped, quickly writing in the last word.

There was a high, shrill scream that caused her to startle and drop her quill. She absentmindedly flicked her wand so as to move the kettle off of the hot coils; a teacup and teaspoon came to life at another flick of her wand. The teaspoon took charge, motioning for the kettle, milk and teabag to organize themselves for Hermione's morning tea.

A loud crack erupted in the living room behind Hermione.

"HERMIONE!" Ginny shouted, though she didn't appear to be particularly upset _with_ Hermione, more so _at_ her.

Her shirt buttons were misaligned with only half of them even buttoned causing the plaid top to fall off one shoulder. Her bare legs were lean and freckled, the pale contrasting nicely with her hair, despite its frazzled, unkempt state. Her knuckles turned a prime white as she clutched tightly onto her boots and pants with one fist, while gripping her wand with the other.

"Ginny? It's nearly half past seven, aren't you supposed to be –"

"At practice in fifteen minutes? MHM." She threw her boots and pants to the side, rushing past Hermione and into her room where she hastily searched for her practice uniform. She came back out with one leg through tight-fitting biker shorts trying to balance as she thrust the other leg into them, "I _told_ Harry, that fucker, I told him! I knew I'd be late, but _no_ he had to be all 'please, Gin, only five more minutes' . . . Ugh!"

She ducked into the room again, then returned with a sports bra on, desperately forcing a shirt over it, all the while mumbling through the fabric about how she would have to suffer extra drills if she was late again.

"Icambewerthih" She said, then gestured wildly to Hermione with the hand that wasn't brushing her teeth. She spit into the sink, then turned to shout at Hermione while wrestling her hair into a tight ponytail, letting the auburn locks tickle the back of her neck. "Fucking Harry Potter. If he makes me late _one more time,_ I'm revoke all blow job privileges . . . for a week!"

Hermione stifled a laugh from the kitchen. She motioned with her wand for the dishes to prepare a quick breakfast for Ginny while the girl tried to _accio_ all of her quidditch gear.

"Blow jobs . . . really, Ginny?" she propped her elbow on the counter and rested her cheek on it, attempting to give the girl a disapproving look but unable to conceal her amusement.

"Yes," Ginny huffed, stuffing a spoonful of _Wizard Crunch_ into her mouth. She put her hand up to cover her mouth, but spoke regardless, "ifihuftasuffrsodothhe!"

Hermione shook her head, "You two are unbelievable. How _often_ do you have sex anyways?"

"Two – no three. Three times."

"A week?" She asked, mouth gaping.

Ginny choked on her cereal, "God, no. A day."

At Hermione's shock, Ginny erupted into a laughing fit and then flicked her wand to levitate the dishes into the sink, leaving them to clean themselves.

"Speaking of sex," Ginny's brow wiggled suggestively at Hermione – who had only just lost the rosy color on her cheeks but found it creeping back up – "how's the ferret in bed? I'm _dying_ to know. I bet he's good. He's got the confidence to be good, at least. Oh, so, maybe he's _not_ good. That would explain the ego. Hmm, so would him being good . . ." Her rambling drifted off and she looked upon Hermione with an expecting stare.

Hermione felt a rush of air enter her lungs, drying the back of her mouth, and leaving her speechless. She knew she was supposed to keep up the façade, but how the fuck was she supposed to answer _that_?

Luckily, a knock at the door gave her the perfect excuse to avoid answering Ginny's invasive question.

"Coming!" She shouted, scooting off the barstool and half-jogging to the door. She peered through the keyhole to see a well-groomed platinum head.

She swept open the door, gesturing for Malfoy to enter. "Come in,"

He leaned in close to her face – as if he was going to greet her with a kiss but thought better of it – then brushed his nose against her cheek, whispering in a low, raspy voice, "Morning, Granger."

Before she could even formulate a response, he had already pulled away and directed his attention to her now-much-more-put-together flatmate.

"She-Weasley," he nodded.

"Malfoy," she responded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Hermione was taken aback by her friend's suddenly cold attitude towards the man she had _just_ been gossiping about.

He bit back a tempting snide remark, instead offering, "The Harpies did well last week. You contributed a great amount to the score, too." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, willing himself to appear cool and collected.

She narrowed her gaze at him; never in her life had she imagined this man standing in her kitchen so casually, as if _he_ owned the place and not her. His statement had even seemed sincere as it lacked its usual condescending tone that hinted at an approaching taunt.

Nevertheless, she refused to budge. _Someone_ had to give him reason to fear harming Hermione, should he ever think to do so. She still had no idea what they were even doing around each other so much lately, but that was beside the point. Malfoy was never good news.

"Thanks," she muttered in response but spoke up to add, "What's the deal with you two anyway? How come all of a sudden, you're hanging around Hermione, Malfoy?"

He shrugged, stating in a monotonous, matter-of-fact tone, "I guess you could say I'm her boyfriend."

Hermione erupted into a coughing fit, nearly choking on the tea she was sipping. She patted her chest vigorously, waving off their alarmed expressions. "I'm fine," she croaked, clearing her throat.

Ginny opened her mouth to challenge him, but then noticed the time. "Bloody hell, I'm so screwed." She hiked her bag across her shoulders, checking to make sure she had everything for practice. " _Fuck_."

She searched frantically for a moment, but then decided she was already running far too late. She exhaled loudly, "This is just not my fucking morning. All right, looks like I'll be playing without gloves today." She held out her wand, ready to apparate –

"Here," Malfoy dug deep into his pocket, his entire fist disappearing, and promptly pulled out a pair of quidditch gloves, "Have mine." She opened her mouth to protest, but he waved a dismissive hand towards her, "Listen, She-Weasley, I doubt yours are even up to standards. You've probably had the same pathetic pair of gloves in your family for generations. Just take these, they're my old ones anyway."

Ginny closed her hands around the pair of gloves he thrust into her chest. She glanced down at them; they were in perfect condition and not only that, they were also a _new_ , _limited edition_ pair. She actively tried not to gawk.

"Thanks," she said, then added, "You can call me Ginny, if you want." With a wave of her wand she disappeared with a crack.

 _She was always the least intolerable Weasel_ , he thought to himself.

Draco looked down at Hermione with a wide grin and winked at her, "Progress."

She scowled at him; her lips pressed into a thin line, "Was that an Undetectable Extension charm you used? You work in the Ministry, how on earth –"

He scoffed, cutting her off, "Oh, please, Granger. Don't use that harrowing tone with me." He leaned towards her and lowered his voice despite there being no one else in the flat, "As I recall, _you_ used such a charm on a certain handbag of yours, hm? And you _also_ work in the Ministry, so as I see it . . . what they don't know won't hurt 'em, right?"

She gasped, "You pompous b –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he _tsk_ -ed, "That's no way to talk to your _beloved_." He taunted. At her wide-eyed expression, he chuckled. "Lighten up, Granger, it's a _joke_."

" _I knew that_ ," she retorted.

He only shook his head, "Come on, then. Don't want to be late for work, now do we?"

Hermione sighed and turned towards the door, "All right, let's go."

He lifted one brow at her, "Where are you going?"

"To the Ministry." She responded drily.

"No, I got that much, _thank you_. I suppose I should clarify, _how_ are you proposing we get there?" He said.

"Whitehall," She said, then at the laugh he poorly attempted to cover with a cough, she added, "How else are we supposed to get there?"

"You're telling me," he started, grinning mischievously, "You've been taking the toilet network all this time you've been working there?"

She shifted, uncomfortable at his maniacal grin, "Yes."

"Granger," he shook his head, "You do realize they opened up the floo and apparition networks again, don't you?"

She felt her cheeks burn and knew they were turning a mean, deep shade of red. "But – I thought – after the Battle –"

"Yes, yes." He said, "But last year the Minister renovated the networks so that we wouldn't be forced to use those obscene public toilets. I can't believe you didn't – ah, never mind." He proffered her his arm, "Shall we?"

Feeling embarrassed, she linked her arm in his and held on tight as he apparated them both into the atrium of the Ministry.

"There," he said to her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Much better than flushing yourself, hm?"

She frowned, "Whatever,"

He looped an arm around her waist, "Does this break that damned rule of yours?"

She unconsciously leaned into his torso, reluctantly shaking her head. He nodded in response, and she swore she noticed to hint of a smile pull at his lips.

* * *

Hermione stretched out under the heavy blanket and sank deeper into the cushions of the sofa; she cradled a new novel – again decidedly _not_ a romance novel as she was too afraid to have romantic notions or expectations floating about her head considering her near constant proximity to Draco – and took a sip of her wine. She let the chilled liquid soothe the back of her throat and was glad to have the flat to herself that night.

She thoroughly enjoyed spending time with Harry and Ginny, but quiet, alone time was much-needed after the long week she'd had.

There was a sudden screech from the balcony. Hermione tore her attention away from the book to see a sleek, black owl perched atop the railing. She begrudgingly stood up and made her way over to the bird; she offered it the back of one hand as she reached for the note attached to its leg with the other.

The owl cooed under her touch, rubbing its jet-black beak against her knuckles and blinking its large, golden eyes at her. She recognized the elegant handwriting as Draco's immediately.

"Ah," she smiled softly at the owl, "That explains why a pretty little pedigree like you showed up at my window, hm?"

The owl chirped encouragingly, as if to say, _of course, who else would I belong to?_

She gave the bird a treat, then slid back into her position on the sofa; she tossed the note on to the coffee table without even bothering to open it. She could afford one night to herself without having to pretend to be in a relationship with him. She deserved it. Although he had been unexpectedly kind to her at work this week, truly holding up his end of the contract, it was exhausting having to pretend to be involved with someone else. To pretend to _be_ someone else.

A small voice in the back of her mind questioned if she was pretending _to_ like him or _not to_ like him. She pushed it aside and reopened her book with renewed focus; intent on steering her thoughts away from his magnetizing touch.

She was on her third glass of wine when there was a thunderous knock at the door. She set her book down on the coffee table and sat up, staring at the door. She was undecided about going to open it – because she knew exactly who would be on the other side, but not what they wanted – but she wasn't given much of a choice when the pounding continued.

It didn't let up until she swung the door open.

She stood in the doorway, "What are you doing here, Draco?"

"Bloody hell, Granger, didn't you get my owl?"

He ignored her exasperated glare – one she typically saved for when Weasley and Potter did something especially idiotic – and strode past her into the flat.

"Yes, I got the owl." She returned to her seat on the sofa, wrapped herself in a blanket, and motioned to the unopened note on the table.

"You didn't even _read_ it?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, so you can read an entire novel about some old hag," – she shoved the history book behind her back at his disdainful comment – "but you can't read a simple note?"

"Didn't have to read it, did I? You showed up anyway," she snapped.

He tried not to wince. "Good thing I did, you look like hell," he gestured to her worn flannel pants and her curls knotted into a messy bun.

"I'm truly flattered," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest, suddenly aware that she was not wearing a bra.

"You know? I would normally have something snarky to say about that, but we don't have time. Mother is waiting." He stood from his position opposite her and looked around the flat before pointing to her room, "that yours?"

Before she could dissuade him, he was already stalking over to her bedroom. She followed reluctantly. "Draco, what are you –"

He poked his head around the room, then began rummaging through her closet, "Now, what formal dresses do you own? Gowns, that sort of things." He squinted at the clothes before him, then looked back to meet her disapproving gaze. "Nothing, it seems . . ." His voice trailed off as he backed away from the closet to sit at the edge of her bed.

"I don't understand, why would I –"

"For Mother's birthday, she's hosting a ball at the Manor." He explained, and when Hermione tried to interrupt, he went on, "I know, I know, 'why isn't Father throwing it for her?' because he's useless, Granger, and she knows it. So, she throws it herself."

Hermione huffed, "No," she shook her head, "there's absolutely no way I'm going to this with you."

"You have to," he shrugged, conjuring the handwritten set of rules with both of their signatures at the bottom with a quick snap of his fingers, "Contract, remember? You have to accompany me to any and all Malfoy social events."

She glared at the document, mentally kicking herself, "Screw that,"

He flicked his wand and the contract disappeared, then crossed one ankle over his knee, giving her a smirk, "You know, I never pegged myself to be a stickler for the rules while _you_ sit here with that whole 'rules are made to be broken' thing going on, but hey, who knew?"

She put her hand on her hips defiantly and looked as though she was about to protest, but he cut in again, "I _did_ show up every morning for us to arrive at work together, did I not? With coffee, too, and that wasn't even _in_ the contract. Then there was lunch, flo –"

Hermione groaned, "Yes, yes, fine! You held up your end of the deal. But, as you pointed out earlier, I don't own any formal gowns good enough for the occasion, so . . ." she raised her hands in an _oh well_ gesture and imagined that would be that.

She would be wrong. What a Malfoy wanted; a Malfoy got.

He stood, placing less than a breath of space between them. She shifted in response and tried to lean far enough back so that her now hardened nipples wouldn't rest against his chest if she inhaled too deeply.

"I figured as much," he stated, seemingly unbothered by their close proximity. If anything, his smirk only _grew_ as he moved closer to her. "no offense." He added quickly. "That's why I showed up at your flat early, Granger. I'd hoped the owl message would give us a decent head start, but I should've known better." He shrugged, "No matter, I planned for this."

* * *

The sweet scent of peonies mixed with a scent of freshly-cut grass to fill their senses upon arrival. Draco had apparated them into the garden at the back of the Malfoy Manor.

Hermione unlinked arms with him and stepped towards one of the many blooming peonies to take in its sweet aroma. She was highly aware that Draco had not taken her to the front entrance of the Manor. Whether it was by chance or thoughtful planning she wasn't sure, but she found herself immensely relieved to not have to pass through _that_ room of the house.

She traipsed through the artfully placed foliage, following him towards the grand, double staircase made of pristine white stone. Atop the landing where both staircases met, stood Narcissa Malfoy; she looked as elegant and regal as Hermione remembered.

Suddenly she felt impossibly small as they approached her; Draco had allowed her the curtesy of a quick shower and for her to change out of her pajamas as well, but she still felt incredibly insecure in her jeans and jumper.

"Mother," Draco greeted, giving her a kiss on either side of her porcelain face.

"Draco," she purred, grasping him by his shoulders, and although he stood much taller than her, the act alone made her appear considerably above him.

"Mother," Draco held out a hand to Hermione, which she took with a trembling grasp to follow him up the last three steps, "You remember Hermione Granger,"

Hermione highly doubted the woman did know who she was, but she seemed not to mind the suggestion and instantly turned to face Hermione with a soft smile.

"Miss. Granger," Narcissa said, shaking the hand that her son wasn't clinging to, "It's a pleasure."

"The –" The back of Hermione's throat had gone dry. She quickly cleared her throat with a soft cough and continued, "The pleasure is all mine."

At the girl's forced smile, Narcissa turned her gaze back to her son. The girl's manners were not _quite_ up to her par, but they were there so she couldn't complain too much. She would have to work on that, of course.

"My dear," She glanced back at Hermione, "Draco tells me you're in need of a gown for this evening?"

"Yes," Hermione croaked.

She clasped her hands together, pressing her lips into a wayward smile, "Well, that's just as well. I have so many, you know, and I have no daughters to share them with, you see." She gave Hermione a deliberate look-over, to which the girl shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze, "I'm quite certain I have just the thing for you," She nodded towards the double doors behind her, "Now, run along inside and I'll be right there to show you the way. I just need a word with my Draco."

Hermione nodded faintly to the clear demand. She gave a worried smile to Draco as she passed between him and his mother and let herself into the manor. She came upon a hall of Victorian era paintings of past Malfoy's and proceeded to read the descriptions below until Narcissa would come to lead her away.

"Draco," Narcissa breathed.

"Mother," he said, "Don't."

"What?" She asked innocently, but her brows furrowed, and her eyes narrowed in a warning look.

"Be nice to her."

Narcissa shot him a sullen glare, "I don't appreciate you questioning my manners, Draco. It's quite inappropriate. I am well equipped on how to treat a guest and I certainly don't need _you_ to remind me to do so."

He sighed, "I know that, Mother, I just meant –" he ran a shaky hand through his hair, took a moment to catch his train of thought, and then continued. "I only meant be nice to _her_. I know Father won't be pleased, but after what Bella did, I don't want any more harm to come to her under this roof."

Narcissa's gaze softened; she reached a hand out to cup her son's cheek.

"You must be very fond of this one," she murmured.

Draco pulled away from her touch and stepped away towards the doors, "I have to get ready," he stated, then turned towards her and added, "Help her. I mean it."

"Darling, trust me, I will." Narcissa followed him and swept into the house while he held the door for her. Upon closer inspection of the Miss. Granger's appearance, she added, "She needs it, it seems."

Narcissa heard Draco groan and mutter something unintelligible under his breath but chose to ignore it and, instead, lead the curious young girl up to her dressing room.

* * *

Hermione pressed her palms firmly against her abdomen, finding it surprisingly easy to inhale and exhale deeply despite the unreasonably tight fit around her ribcage. She turned in the floor-length mirror, attempting to view the gown from every angle.

She'd never imagined she could look so elegant; she found it difficult to tear her gaze away from her own reflection.

The satin, emerald ballgown extended out from her waist to create an illusion of a petite waist while cascading towards the floor with a voluminous skirt and long train. The satin shone as she twirled under the twinkling lights in Narcissa's dressing room. Hermione even tried to raise her arms as high as they would go to test any further restrictions she may have in the dress. After having just ruled out the possibility of suffocation. To her surprise, she was able to reach the back of her perfect chignon with her fingertips despite the short, off-shoulder cuffs wrapped snugly beneath the curve of her shoulders.

"You'll find that dress is quite comfortable," Narcissa chimed, coming into view of the reflection.

Hermione turned to face her, "How?"

The woman shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, "Charmed, of course." She stepped forward to gently pull at the fabric at Hermione's chest; it didn't budge. "I told you that extra padding would do wonders, did I not?"

She turned the girl around to direct her attention to her heightened, and very noticeable, breasts. Even despite Hermione's reservations to the neckline of the gown, she could not disagree with the woman. She _did_ look wonderful.

"Thank you," Hermione breathed, then twirled again despite herself, "I don't understand – I mean – I don't wish to offend you but –"

"But what, Miss. Granger?" Narcissa cut in; she was not fond of babbling and would not tolerate it, no matter how lovely or how timid the speaker seemed.

"Why are you being so nice to me? So generous?"

Narcissa appreciated the candor; she put a finger to her lips and glanced over the masterpiece she'd created in such a short time. She moved beside the girl and looked upon their reflection in the mirror.

"You know," she adjusted her slender, black gown and continued on without meeting the girl's curious eyes, "I wore that gown when I first met Lucius' parents."

Hermione, unsure of what to take from the personal insight, only nodded and pressed her painted red lips together. She admired herself in her reflection one last time before Narcissa took her arm in her own and led her out of the room.

As she opened the double doors she'd entered only earlier that evening, she caught sight of a familiar blond leaning against the railing and overlooking the gardens below. When he turned to face the sound of the soft thud as the doors shut behind her, Hermione felt all of the air rush out of her lungs. She felt a wave of dizziness come over her as he sauntered towards them.

"You look –" the words caught on his tongue – _you look lovely, no gorgeous, no . . . breathtaking and painfully beautiful_ – and he visibly swallowed in attempt to regain his thoughts. "You look good, Granger." He said flatly, though he was sure the heat creeping up on his face gave away his true feelings.

He silent cursed himself for acting like such a fool, and quickly recovered his composure. "Of course, you would wear a colored gown to a black-attire-only ball." He shot a smirk at his mother.

" _What?_ " Hermione gaped, violently turning to face Narcissa with wide eyes.

Narcissa, with a brush of her black-gloved arm, put a finger to her cheek and replied innocently, "Oh dear, it must have slipped my mind." She shrugged and nudged Hermione into Draco's chest, "Oh well, too late now. Off you two go, I have to track down Lucius."

She turned swiftly and reentered the Mansion, leaving a blushing Hermione in Draco's embrace.

_What a Malfoy wanted; a Malfoy got._

"Shall we?"

Hermione broke out of her internal reverie to see Draco extending his arm to her; she linked her arm in his and picked up the front of her enormous skirt with the other, carefully descending the staircase.

She looked over the crowd mulling in the gardens and noticed, with horror, that everyone aside from her was clad in black, just as Draco had promised. She craned her neck to see that a smirk had formed on his lips as he surveyed the crowd.

He looked devilishly handsome in his dress robes and it took her great effort to look away from his perfectly combed hair and focus on not tripping as they approached the bottom of the winding staircase.

He led her directly into the outdoor entrance to the ballroom and she couldn't help but gape at the high ceilings that were artfully painted with Renaissance depictions; an intimidatingly large chandelier fell from the center nave and hung high above the mirrored floor.

She tapped a heel against the glass and was shocked to see her looming face reflecting back at her. Her head snapped up to see an amusing grin on his face.

"You grew up here?" She asked incredulously.

He shrugged and slipped his bare hand around her petite waist, pulling her in close to him. She could smell the sandalwood and pine of his cologne and nearly sank into his chest; desperate to engulf herself in the intoxicating aroma that she'd so often come to associate with him.

"You get used to it," he whispered in her ear.

She scoffed, avoiding his silvery gaze, " _You_ would say that."

He pressed his lips together in a tight smile, then tapped the mirrored floor with his dress shoes, "You know," he said, fully aware of her never-ending thirst for knowledge, "it's enchanted. Father prefers the simple mirror effect, but Mother tends to play around with it a bit more."

Hermione glanced down again, meeting his mischievous grin in the reflected glass, "You're just messing with me, aren't you?" she narrowed her eyes at him; the real him, not the reflected one.

His teasing grin did not waver; he shrugged nonchalantly, then pulled her farther into the room, passing under the impressive chandelier and smiling inwardly as she craned her neck to admire it.

He glanced around as the remaining guests that had been wandering through the gardens began to file into the ballroom, and looked down at her curious expression, "You think you can survive without me for a few moments? I'm going to go track down some drinks for us."

She nodded hesitantly at first, but then nodded again with a sudden wave of confidence, as if remembering who she was. "Yes, yes, go on. I'll be fine."

He nodded curtly and strode off across the open floor to the other side of the room. She bit her lip absentmindedly.

_You may be alone in a foreign house, at a foreign party, wearing an entirely foreign gown, and surrounded by an infinite number of former – possibly formed, that remains undecided – enemies, but for fuck's sake Hermione you are a courageous Gryffindor and you'll be damned if –_

Her internal monologue was cut short by the sudden presence of two very familiar faces.

"Daph," the younger girl said – whom Hermione now recognized as Astoria from the tabloids on her and Draco's split – with a malicious tone, "Look what the cat dragged in."

Daphne smiled sweetly, but venom dripped from her rosy lips, " _Hermione Granger_ ,"

She twisted her arms behind her back, digging her nails into her palms where the sisters couldn't see. She nodded politely to them, "It's been a while."

"Quite." Astoria clipped, then taking a sip of her champagne, continued, "Isn't it _quite_ rude to show up to a _very clearly stated_ all-black event in a green dress? Where did you find this –" her throat caught on the word ugly, truly not able to say it, " _thing_."

Hermione held her chin up, "It's Narcissa's actually."

Daphne choked on her champagne. Astoria, baffled, spat out, "Liar!"

Hermione pretended to pout, twirling her enormous skirt around her, "Next time I see her, I'll be sure to mention your distaste for her wardrobe," she said, meeting the other girl's murderous stare with a forced smile.

* * *

Draco spotted Theo and Blaise shortly after procuring two tall flutes of champagne for he and Hermione. He saddled up next to them and smirked, "Boys,"

"Oi, Malfoy!" Blaise said excitedly.

"Can't believe you actually came," Theo raised his own glass to Draco and took a sip.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Right, as if Mother would let me miss her birthday celebration."

Theo chuckled, "Yeah, you're fucking right. She'd skin you alive."

"Starting with your balls!" Blaise chimed in.

Draco narrowly missed a fist to his groin with a quick maneuver away from Blaise, and he even managed not to spill the champagne in his hands.

"On the other hand, you might end up skinned alive for showing up anyway," Theo added, "if Astoria manages to get her hands on you, you're done for, mate."

"Fuck, she's here?" Draco groaned.

"Of course. You think just because she broke your itty-bitty little heart that your parents won't invite her family to their events anymore? Please," Theo scoffed.

He shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh, "Wishful thinking."

"Tough luck," Theo said. "Heard you have a new girlfriend anyway, no need to worry about Astoria, then, hm?"

"Or, _more_ need to worry about her." Blaise corrected with a cocked brow.

"Who is it, anyway? This new girl of yours."

"Don't worry about it, Nott." Draco snapped.

"Ah, you worried I'll steal her from you?" At Draco's pointed look, he laughed and raised both brows at Draco mischievously, "Can't promise I won't."

"Fuck off,"

"Fine, don't tell us. It's only a matter of time before –"

"Bloody hell," Blaise interrupted. "We don't need Draco to tell us who it is. Astoria's already found her for us," He nodded towards the other side of the ballroom where Astoria and Daphne Greengrass approached Hermione Granger.

"Fuck," Draco muttered, "That can't be good."

He took off towards the presumably helpless bookworm with Theo and Blaise in tow.

"Liar!" He heard Astoria shout; the shrill tone in her voice alerting him to her predictably murderous state. Typically, when he was on the receiving end of this tone of hers, it usually meant that he'd royally fucked up.

To his surprise, Hermione _twirled_ in front of his seething ex and offered her a fake pout.

"Next time I see her," Hermione said sweetly, though Draco could sense the menacing undertone in her voice, "I'll be sure to mention your distaste for her wardrobe."

He nearly recoiled at the comment. Girl had fucking _balls_ , he remarked, internally.

"Daphne!" Theo interjected with feigned enthusiasm, slipping an arm around her waist and steering her towards the dance floor. He shot Draco a wink before turning his attention the beautiful brunette on his arm, "Now, how is . . ."

Draco stopped listening as Theo and Daphne went out of hearing range, and instead focused on Blaise attempting to wrangle Astoria away from within reach of Hermione. She followed him reluctantly, but not before shooting daggered looks over her shoulder at both he and Hermione.

Draco glared back, hiding a shudder at the close call.

When only he and Hermione remained, he looked over at her with wide eyes and raised brows, as if to say _holy shit girl, what the hell just happened?_

Her rouge lips formed a soft, triumphant smile; she took one of the glasses from his grip and shrugged. She returned his shocked expression with an amusing one and retorted, "What?"

He shook his head and took a long swig of champagne, emptying half of the glass, "Nothing." He made a mental note that, despite her apparent independence, he would not leave her side for the remainder of the evening.

A little while later, both were arguably much more comfortable amidst the stares and whispers of the other guests in the ballroom. Perhaps it had to do with their growing kinship and mutual respect for one another, or perhaps it was simply the three glasses of champagne they'd each consumed in the past half hour.

"I'm just saying," Hermione protested, "If _you_ were the enslaved creature doting on an inconsiderate family, wouldn't you want more rights? Think of it: better hours, food, clothing –"

Draco snorted into the lip of his glass, "Well, I'm not an enslaved creature, so –"

"Oh, what, you don't care? That's repugnant privilege speaking!"

"Granger, I don't know how to tell you this but –"

He was promptly cut off by a trilling bell echoing through the ballroom. When all of the chatter had ceased, the voice of Lucius Malfoy boomed from the other side of the room; his wand poking into the side of his neck.

"THANK YOU." He greeted, and then lowered his voice at the returned silence, though its volume did not change in the slightest. "I want to thank you all for coming –"

"Oh, _fuck_." Draco muttered, motioning to Hermione to rise from her seat and follow him.

"– it's been a privilege hosting you all for my wonderful wife's birthday celebration –"

"We have to go, _now_." He cupped her elbow and dragged her alongside him.

"– We hope you have enjoyed yourselves so far and would like to start off tonight's festivities –"

"Where are we _going_?" Hermione hissed as Draco practically sprinted to the other side of the room, towards where the booming voice echoed from, with his grip on her forearm unrelenting. "What the –"

"– with the host family leading the first dance before the floor opens up to all of you." Lucius concluded.

She halted; forcing the tall blond to turn and meet her disapproving look.

"What does he mean –"

But she was cut off by Narcissa and Lucius approaching them, hand in hand, and gesturing for them to follow. Lucius glided onto the mirrored floor and settled Narcissa and himself below the looming chandelier. She waved her wand outward around the ballroom; at once, the lighting in the room dimmed and the previously mirrored floor evolved into a dark, starry night sky.

Draco met her glare with a cocky grin, "Did I forget to mention we have to lead the first dance?"

"You _bloody_ –" but she choked on her own words, startling aware that every pair of eyes had wandered from the Malfoy's in the center of the ballroom, to the wondrous floor beneath their feet, and finally settled on her and Draco expectedly.

He held out his arm to her, as he so often did that night, and gave her a more sincere smile, "Granger?"

She let out a deep sigh, plastered a smile on her red lips, and linked her arm in his. She let him lead her to the middle of the dancefloor. The twinkle of lights among the blackened nothingness beneath her feet held her attention as she avoided meeting the blatant stares of the onlooking crowd.

A streak of light skirting across the floor captivated her gaze for a brief moment before it was gone, and then she looked up to meet a pair of darkened, grey eyes watching her with sparked interest.

"Told you the floor was enchanted," He said.

Then, he bent his upper body towards her in a swooping, somewhat dramatic, bow and lifted his head to smirk at her, "Granger."

She suppressed a giggle and offered a deep curtsy, bowing her head as she shot back an equally teasing, "Malfoy."

The melody started up with a slow, rhythmic repetition of piano keys. His hand found the small of her back and pulled her in close to him. She inhaled the familiar scent of sandalwood and exhaled the anxiety she hadn't realized she had been clinging onto. She placed her palm on his chest and felt the quickened heartbeat she was certain matched her own.

As the second count of repetitive keys sounded through airy room, he began to lead her through the waltz. He was an excellent dancer, and an extraordinary leader. In no time, Hermione felt herself predicting the following steps and dancing across the starry floor with more confidence.

It seemed had Draco received assurances of her comfortability and decided to put it to the test. He pulled away from her, leaving only their interwoven hands together and led her away from the center of the room, towards one edge of the crowd.

He directed her along its border; she swung her other arm and her lengthy skirt out towards the crowd, never breaking contact with his stormy eyes.

 _Feeling brave, aren't we?_ They appeared to be saying.

To which she silently conveyed in response, _is that all you've got?_

He registered the cocky grin on her face and swiftly pulled her in to him, twirling her under his raised arm; their hands remaining entwined. She felt her heart leap as he pulled her into his chest again and pulled her in circles around the room.

Neither had noticed that Narcissa had pulled Lucius aside, leaving them the entirety of the dance floor with the endless night sky below. The sonata carried on and, as it picked up cadence, the two picked up momentum.

Sensing the heightened tempo of the song, Draco drew Hermione in close to him again from where she twirled a step away, and nearly tripped on her train. With one swift movement, he gripped the small of her back and dipped her, feeling his mouth dry at her exhilarated gasp.

When she rose to press her chest against his in an agonizingly slow fashion, he couldn't help but wonder how he'd never seen it before. How he'd never seen _her_ before. Her radiance. Her beauty. Her wit.

With one final, sweeping gesture, he lifted her at the peak of her ascend and twirled with her in a circle; her hip resting atop his and her feet dangling above the twinkling stars in the floor.

She leaned into his touch, trusting that he wouldn't drop her, and rested her forehead against his. She closed her eyes and let the music and the electrifying touch of his skin on hers take incapsulate her senses.

The piano keys faded to silence and the two heaved, sweat forming on their temples and necks. The crowd began to applaud which caused Hermione to instantly blush, remembering where she was. And who she was surrounded by.

He noticed her unease and, while the rest of the guest made their way onto the dance floor as the music picked back up, led her out into the gardens.

"Ah, fresh air." He mused.

She nodded and gave a tired smile; she was still trying to control her gasping breaths so as not to cause any indecency with her chest rising up and down so drastically.

"What do you say we take a walk through Mother's garden?" He suggested, "Leave the bewitched floor to the others for a bit."

"All right," she replied brightly.

Her small fists closed around the front of her dress; she cast a quick spell so as not to dirty the gown or the heels before following him onto the soft earth.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and led her through the winding maze of hedges and flower bushes.

"You're quite an impressive dancer." She told him.

He glanced sideways at her, "Thank you. Mother insisted I take lessons," he paused, imitating Narcissa's demeanor, "'One is not a gentleman, Draco, if one does not know how to dance _properly'_."

Hermione laughed, "You sound just like her."

"I can do Father, too." He winked.

"Please don't." She grimaced, to which he chuckled.

"Well, I certainly think you impressed them."

She felt her cheeks warm, "Really?"

He nodded, giving her a knowing look, "Mother doesn't lend her clothes out to just anybody."

"But didn't you bring me here for her to –"

"Well, yes. But I didn't think she'd _actually_ give you one of her gowns. I anticipated that she'd at least be helpful in procuring a gown for you, not fit you with one of her own."

She baffled, "You are unbelievable, Malfoy."

He lifted his shoulders and gave her a quick wink, "I know." He paused to guide her through a narrow passage between hedges. "I still can't believe she gave you that one."

Hermione's eyes flickered down at the emerald, satin ballgown. _You know, I wore that gown when I first met Lucius' parents_. She peered up to try and assess how much Draco truly knew about the gown, but he didn't meet her gaze.

Ever curious, she decided to prompt him, "What's wrong with this gown? I think it's lovely."

He didn't hesitate, "Oh, it is. Especially on you." Then, as if realizing he'd said that aloud, he quickly added, "I simply meant I'm surprised she didn't find a black dress for you."

She clung to the deep, rich green dress in her hands and deflated slightly at his correction. "I think she did that on purpose." At his pointed look, she lifted her skirt emphatically, "The green, I mean."

"Oh, I have no doubt that she did. Whatever her plan was . . ." His voice trailed off.

They strolled through the gardens in silence for a moment before he spoke up again, with renewed energy. "Holy shit! I nearly forgot about Astoria."

Hermione, not entirely sure of what he meant by that but unable to hide the hint of jealousy in her voice, quipped, "What about Astoria?"

Draco, seemingly ignorant to her tone, went on, "You!" He let out an incredulous fit of laughter. "When you _twirled_ in front of her. Then, threatened to tell _my mother_? Fuck, I almost died."

She immediately felt the spiteful tingling at the nape of her neck disappear. "Oh," She grinned, giving him a sideways glance, "That was fun."

"No," He corrected, "That was hysterical. I mean, I was terrified. But _you_ ," he shook his head at her, though he wore an approving smile, "you held your own swimmingly. Good for you, Granger."

"Thank you," She replied softly, daring to meet his sparkling gaze.

Then, noticing his exuberant attitude, decided – against what could only have been a form of a reflexive defense mechanism – to add, "Careful, Malfoy. Keep talking like that and someone will surely think you _actually_ dolike me."

She watched, with instant regret, as the smile spread widely across his lips faded to a thinly pressed line.

He looked down at her, with stormy grey eyes, and shook his head once, "Doubtful," he said drily.

But, despite his monotonous reply, Draco felt something deflate deep inside of him. It was the moment, he knew, he was utterly and impossibly fucked.

* * *

**Part IV**

* * *

The soft, pleasant voice of Glenda Chittock carried through the flat as it typically did weekday mornings. She was currently giving a lengthy report of the current gossip in the wizarding world.

Draco tended to tune her out and patiently wait for the regular programming to come back; he enjoyed listening to music while he got ready for work in the morning. He didn't even mind that played music by Muggle band's – his favorite was Coldplay, not that he would ever admit it – occasionally.

" _. . . Well folks, there you have it! That is one way to avoid having to eat your mother-in-law's awful pudding. Ta, thank you Emily for that wonderful tip. Next up, has the devil finally repent and seen the light? Or, has the angel finally given in to temptations? Stay tuned after this song for the newest dish on Draco Malfoy, devil in disguise, and Hermione Granger, angelic hero . . ."_

The woman's voice faded expertly into a popular song by the Weird Sisters and Draco promptly flicked his wand to shut it off. He was no longer in the mood for music.

He tightened his navy tie and slipped a hasty cushioning charm into his new leather shoes before putting them on and heading into the kitchen. He set the kettle on a burner and pulled two single-use coffee cups from the cabinet.

Two spoons of sugar and milk – more milk than any one should have in one cup of coffee – were added to one of the cups. In the other, a packet of Earl Grey. When the kettle whistled, Draco added the boiling water to both cups.

This was his morning routine and he'd finally gotten it down to a science; now it only took him three minutes to prepare instead of the original ten it took weeks ago. When he'd first made the coffee for her.

" _You look like hell, Granger," He said when she opened the door to her flat to let him in._

_She raised her hands to rub the tips of her fingers under her eyes, then to massage her temples. She sighed, "I know."_

" _What, no quippy response?"_

_She shook her head, "I haven't been getting enough sleep lately. I'm exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, that I can't even conjure a witty response for you."_

_The next morning, he showed up with a cup of coffee for her._

" _For me?"_

" _Obviously," he rolled his eyes, then took a sip from his own cup before replying. "Like I said, you look like hell. Can't have my shiny, new girlfriend looking miserable next to me, now can I?"_

_She took a tentative sip. Her eyes widened and she looked at him, shocked. "This is actually really good."_

" _Oh, shut up and finish it, will you?"_

_Instead of giving him any more lip, she smiled and drank the rest of the coffee in a euphoric silence. When she was done, she looked up at him with her big brown eyes and batted her lashes emphatically._

_He groaned, "What, Granger?"_

" _What do I have to do to get you to bring me another one of those tomorrow?" She pleaded._

_He smirked at her, "What are you offering?"_

_She swatted him with her palm, then linked her arm in hers, ready to apparate to work._

Nevertheless, he found himself bringing her another cup the following day . . . and the day after that, and so on.

Now, he mixed his expertly-made coffee – just the way she liked it – and then set the milk back in his fridge. He didn't like milk, honestly didn't even use it for anything else, but he still bought it every week so that he could make her coffee with the absurd amount she was so fond of.

Gently holding his wand between his teeth and two scalding cups in each of his hands, he maneuvered his way through the apparition that brought him outside the front door of her flat as it did every weekday morning.

Again, swishing the wand from between his bite, he levitated both cups so that he could free his hands. He placed the wand in his back pocket with one while he knocked on her door with the other.

She swung the door open forcefully and reached for the coffee that levitated towards her, "Thank goodness!" She sipped eagerly, letting out a soft moan as the warm liquid caressed her throat. "Godric, that's good."

With a playful smile, she moved aside and let him into the flat.

"Did you hear the Witching Hour this morning?" He asked, settling into one of her kitchen barstools. She sat next to him.

"No, anything good?"

He shrugged, "The usual bullshit mostly, but I did catch her mentioning us at the end of it."

"Of course," Hermione pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes. "Was it as horribly dramatic as I imagine it would be?"

"Worse," he assured her. "Apparently, I'm the devil in disguise. Tempting you with my evil ways." He wiggled his brows at her.

She nodded her head in several small motions, thinking it over. She took a sip of her coffee, gripping it between her hands, "I see it."

He shrugged, "It's overdone. So unoriginal."

"What was I then, some lonely maiden so desperate for love she settled for the devil?" She said drily.

"Something like that," he winked. "they seem to think you may have rubbed your heroic tendencies off on me."

Hermione shook her head and mumbled absurdities. She placed her empty coffee cup on the counter and reached for the _Daily Prophet_ in front of her. She had one word left on the crossword puzzle for that day.

Draco leaned over, craning his neck to see which one she was working on. Twenty-three across. He nodded and retreated back to his original position with a smirk on his face. That had been his last word to solve, too. He started doing the daily crosswords – after she'd held him up from heading to work a few mornings in a row as she tried to finish them – out of curiosity for why she was so intent on doing them every morning. Now, he could relate.

She tapped her pencil against the granite nervously. A million combinations ran threw her head over the next minute or so. Draco quietly finished his tea; she often finished the crosswords before he even showed up, but sometimes it took her a bit longer. Luckily, he'd gotten in the habit of waiting patiently.

"Lacewing _flies_!" She exclaimed, then hurriedly wrote it in.

She turned to grin at him, "I knew it had to be a lacewing fly,"

"Mhmm," Draco nodded in agreement. _But they specifically wanted the plural version_ , he thought.

"But they _specifically_ wanted the plural version," She continued.

_Because the recipe calls for 21 of them, presumably._

"I should've known, I mean, the potion does require several of them. But it's a complicated potion, and I didn't think this ingredient would be what the crossword was referring to,"

_Because it's not on the Restricted Register._

"Because it's on the Restricted Register!"

_Which is odd that the Ministry would let them publish this._

"You know, I also thought it might be another restricted ingredient from the potion. Because they both have a 'G'."

_Boomslang skin._

"Boomslang skin," she scoffed.

_Not possible though, because it's the eighth letter in that puzzle and that one has it as its ninth._

"Then, I recounted the letters, and that wasn't right." She shook her head, "I can't believe it took me that long to convince myself lacewing fly _was_ correct, it just needed to be plural."

His lips twitched up into a knowing smile, "Who knew?" He stood and held out his arm for her, "Ready?"

She stood up from the barstool and grabbed her coat, "Ready."

They disappeared from her flat with a crack.

* * *

Hermione had the uneasy feeling that someone was standing much too close to her as she paid for her sweets; when she glanced over her shoulder, she discovered there were two people standing directly behind her.

"You aren't seriously going to eat those are you? They're terrible for you and certainly not going to help you long term, no matter how enviably thin you may currently be." One of the women reprimanded.

Hermione felt her throat dry, caught off guard. Luckily, the other woman, far more effortlessly beautiful than Hermione could ever wish to accomplish. Her golden hair cascading in loose, pleasing waves over her shoulders causing Hermione to be subconsciously smooth her own frizzy curls into submission.

"Hush, Pansy!" She swatted the dark-haired girl with a scowl on her face, then turned to face Hermione with a sideways smile. "Don't mind her. You remember us from school, don't you, Hermione?"

She did. Daphne Greengrass, the school's sweetheart and one of the aristocrats that spent her school years in Draco's presence. Similarly, Pansy Parkinson, had also spent her childhood at Draco's side. From what Hermione knew now, having spent a decent amount of her own time at his side the past month, she was his best friend aside from Theo Nott.

"Yes," she squeaked. "Hi."

"Atrocious manners," Pansy sighed, "We'll have to work on that."

"Wh-what?" She blinked.

"We heard you'll be attending brunch with Narcissa tomorrow," Daphne offered in explanation, leading Hermione out of the sweet shop and into the bustling street of Diagon.

She wondered how either of them knew of her plans tomorrow seeing as she'd only just agreed to them herself yesterday. Draco had told her Narcissa insisted on spending more quality time with Hermione since she met her at their ball.

"Draco wasn't concerned in the slightest of your appearance, he assured us that you'd be able to hold your own." Daphne continued.

"But obviously he overestimated you." Pansy added. "It's quite clear you will most definitely be needing our help. There's no way you're going to win Narcissa's affections on your own." She gave Hermione a once over, her eyes not hiding the judgement of Hermione's cardigan, shift dress that did nothing to help her shape, and old flats.

"No worries," Daphne beamed. "We're happy to help."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Why are you helping me? You were so mean to me not even a month ago?"

Daphne's smile faltered momentarily, "I apologize about that. My sister can be quite dramatic, and I thought it was my sisterly obligation to defend her, you see. But, after talking with Draco, I've come to realize it was actually Astoria who had been the one to cause harm in their relationship." She shook her head. "I love her, truly I do, but she can be a bit manipulative sometimes."

"All the time," Pansy amended.

"And what about you, then?" Hermione directed towards Pansy.

"Oh, I don't care about you either way." She replied; her chin angled upwards. "I care about Draco. If he wants to have you on his arm, for whatever idiotic reason, I can't let you embarrass him in front of Narcissa. She may have been kind to you at the ball, lending you her dress and all, but that doesn't mean she will like you or respect you unless you earn it." She shrugged. "It will be quite a feat if Daphne and I can pull it off in the next twenty-four hours."

"Yes! We have lots of shopping to do Hermione," Daphne said. "I'm imagining you in something. . . periwinkle? Yes, I think that would look nicely on you, with your dark curls. Certainly, an A-line dress. Short, but not too short. . ." She trailed off, leading the way towards a small boutique Hermione had never stepped in before that morning.

She bit the inside of her cheek, unsure of how to handle this situation. It was odd, having these girls who'd never said one kind word to her in all her life, now suddenly at her side and helping her pick out posh clothing and providing her with ample amounts of makeup and tips for taming her wild curls.

But it felt _nice_. She had to admit. Besides, she did want Draco's mother to like her. It was one of her vices, she supposed, wanting to please any member of authority.

* * *

"Your family has way too many social events," Hermione commented as they weaved through the winding garden hedges.

"I warned you," Draco replied nonchalantly.

"Yes, but I didn't realize there would be _this_ _many_ and with so many rules and," she paused and huffed. "It's all so overwhelming."

He stopped abruptly, causing her to nearly walk into him. He turned slowly to face her, "If this is too much. . ." There was a slight frown forming on the edges of his mouth, and from what Hermione could tell, during her attempt at categorizing his micro facial expressions over the past month, this meant he was being genuine about his sentiment. He was trying to make her feel better.

"No, no," she shook her head in dismissal. "It's fine."

She squirmed under his intent gaze, then pretended to brush nonexistent dust off of the front of her lilac dress. Turns out Daphne had not settled on periwinkle as she so intended to do, but instead chose this dainty, feminine piece. It was tight around her torso but fanned out into a double layer of flowing skirts that stopped mid-thigh. The material was breathable and comfortable to a point where Hermione had hardly put up any fight in the boutique when she was forced to try it on and parade outside of the dressing room for their approval. Combined with posh nude heeled sandals, and she felt like quite the midsummer's dream.

"Well," Draco finally said, "We still have tomorrow night, right?"

Ah, yes. They had finally gotten around to arranging their schedules so that they could watch her favorite classic films from the muggle world. That would be much more comfortable for her, but she supposed this was his element now, with all of these social events, so it really was only fair that she displayed equal enthusiasm for his activities if she had any hope of him becoming a Molly Ringwald fan.

"Yes," she agreed with a smile on her face, "We have tomorrow."

He beckoned her forward and toward the gazebo in the center of the garden, "Come on, then. Let's get this over with."

She nodded and followed him, trying not to think about how his fingertips up against the small of her back as she maneuvered around him on the narrow path.

"So," Narcissa said, raising a cup of tea to her rouge lips. They were never less than pristine and even during brunch this was no exception. "Hermione, how have you been since I last saw you?"

"Oh, fine." She tucked an ankle behind the other one and physically had to refrain from squirming in her seat. Pansy had swatted her enough times to let her know it was _not_ ladylike.

When the silence continued, Hermione realized Narcissa was still waiting for her to go on, clearly unsatisfied with Hermione's monosyllabic response.

"I've been very busy at work. Loads of paperwork and," she bit her lip at _umm_ and desperately tried to think of something, _anything_ else to add. In all honesty, she hadn't been up to too much the past month. Mostly work and errands with Draco to help boost their chances of being seen in public together by their respective exes.

"Mother," Draco cut in – Hermione shot him a gratuitous glance, mouthing _thank you_ while Narcissa wasn't looking – "you remember what I told you of Hermione's work? With the elves?"

"Oh, yes." Narcissa said drily. "Not my cup of tea, I'm afraid, but good for you."

She did not sound pleased for Hermione in the slightest. This wasn't going as well as she'd hoped. How could she have possibly imagined winning over Narcissa's affections when they had absolutely nothing in common? It was insane.

Rather than let the topic go, though, Narcissa chimed back up with, "Why? Why do you do it?"

"S.P.E.W.?" Hermione asked. Narcissa nodded, arching a brow for her to continue. "I started it years ago, actually, but I couldn't do too much other than spread flyers and badges at school." She shrugged, eying a delicious-looking pastry covered in rosy frosting. "It wasn't until I started working for the Ministry that I could really get it running. Now, the organization has been able to secure fair wages for house elves and better working conditions. I've spent the past few months working up a draft to change some of the laws regarding elf welfare."

"Oh?" Narcissa said, dropping an additional sugar cube into her tea and stirring it before taking another sip.

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "I'm hoping it'll be done soon so I can have it read at the next high meeting."

"It's quite good, actually." Draco added. "Literary speaking of course. Your writing is quite good. I still like my house elves the way they are." He amended.

Hermione tried to refrain from rolling her eyes at him in front of Narcissa, though she felt her lips betray her into a smirk. They'd argued this topic of discussion often enough on their lunch breaks for her to know where he stood on the subject.

"Interesting," Narcissa commented, though her tone depicted she thought otherwise. "Do you do anything else that's more. . . useful?"

"Mother," Draco interjected.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione started, brushing Draco away. She could handle this herself, surely. "I don't mean to offend you or your way of living, but it's a matter of abuse of magical creatures."

"Abuse?" Her voice warningly high-pitched.

"Yes." She replied. "Simply because they are non-human does not mean they are deserving of less rights than we are. They are magical creatures, as are we, and therefore they should be entitled to the same welfare regulations and control we are given. There should be an elf in the department for that, as well."

Hermione cut herself off, aware of the familiar ramble that was soon to unwind from her tongue if she continued. She knew herself well enough to know that once she went down that rabbit hole, there was very little she could do to pull herself out of it. This was certainly not the time and place.

She took a moment to catch her breath; heat having risen to her cheeks and flushed them into a deep rosy color.

"Hm." Narcissa commented.

She then turned to Draco and asked him about how he liked his current position and if there were any way he could get out of it to help his father run the family business. Draco shook his head, telling her she already knew his position on that particular argument.

The conversation stayed pleasant and shallow for the remainder of the brunch. After Narcissa said her goodbyes and traipsed into the gardens, admiring her peonies and gardenias, Hermione turned to Draco and let out a loud sigh of relief. She'd been holding onto it for the entirety of the morning along with an aching tension in her neck and shoulders.

"She doesn't like me very much," Hermione pointed out.

Draco shook his head, "On the contrary, I think she likes you more than you presume." When she opened her mouth to argue, he stood and held out a hand for her to take. "Let's not discuss it. I'm sure it's fine. Besides, getting Mother to like you was not in the contract."

"I know." She said. "But still."

* * *

"Coming!" Hermione called as she ran to the door of her flat. She threw open the door and wiped a sleeve across the perspiration on her forehead. "You know, I'm getting extremely tired of having to get up every time you show up at my door. You've done it so often recently I swear I've added an extra mile to my weekly exercise regimen."

"Hey," Draco said, moving through her gestured arm and into the living room. "It's not my fault you won't update your stupid wards so I can just apparate or floo in." He arched a brow at her.

She narrowed her brown eyes at him for a moment, but then shrugged it off and waved him away. "Yes, fine, whatever. I'll update them in the morning, before we head to work."

"Splendid," He grinned. Then Draco surveyed the room and decided to settle into the far end of the sofa.

Hermione closed the door behind her and levitated two stemmed glasses from her kitchen counter, along with a bottle of her best merlot, over to the coffee table. She noticed that he sat in a position which forced her to choose how intimate she wanted to be. Did she mind sitting beside him and sharing the sofa? Or, would she be more comfortable in the lone armchair, leaving plenty of space between them?

She opted for the former.

"Wine?" She asked, already pouring the dark red liquid into the second glass before hearing his reply.

"Don't suppose you're giving me much of a choice, Granger." He replied, taking the second glass from her outstretched hand.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "You don't have to – "

"Relax," he interrupted with a crooked smile, "I'm joking. Of course, I'll have some wine."

He took an emphatic sip, savoring the bitter taste on his tongue and wondered – briefly – if her lips would taste as bittersweet as he watched them stain from her own tentative sip.

"I'm going to need plenty of substance if I'm going to make it through these boring films you're forcing me to watch." He added.

His sarcasm flew over Hermione's head as she delved into her collection of films. She sorted through them earlier in the afternoon in anticipation for this evening. Not because it was Malfoy, she reminded herself – several times, not that it was anybody's business – but because she lived for such small luxuries as sitting at home with a crisp glass of wine and a good book or film.

"There are so many," she stated, "I picked out the Must See's, but I'm hopeful that we can make it into the Honorable Mention's category by the end of the month."

"How," he cleared his throat. "How many are we watching?"

"Well, I was _thinking_ that we should watch one for every social event you've dragged me to and will continue to drag me to." He grimaced. "It's only fair." She added with a sinister smile displayed sweetly over her rouge-tinted lips. She took another sip of wine and reached for a throw to toss over her bare legs. "Unless, you don't have any more functions in mind? Because in that case we only have to watch the two I chose for tonight."

He grumbled under his breath about how he didn't particularly enjoy his social events either, hence dragging her to all of them with him. Instead, he sighed and reached for the edge of her tartan throw.

"Fine, but it's bloody freezing in here so quit hogging this."

"No," she scoffed, yanking it closer to her. "Get your own!"

"Where, Granger?" She shrugged. "You're impossible."

She flicked her wand and cast the first film into its slot and watched the opening scene project onto the television. Muggle contraptions were a necessary evil for her beloved muggle films to play well.

" _Saturday March 24, 1984. Shermer High School. Dear Mr. Vernon: We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it is we did wrong. . ."_

As the ending scene finished, Hermione peered up at Draco to gauge his reaction of the film. He'd been quiet for the entirety of it, only breaking his focus once or twice to ask her what certain muggle terms were, and she was desperate to know what he thought about it.

"Well," she said.

"So," he started, stretching his long legs under the throw – she'd caved about twenty minutes in and thrown half of it over his body, inching closer so that they could both fit comfortably under its warmth – "he gave her an earring and all was well? Not even the pair of earrings, either, just the one."

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's just odd, I suppose, if I were to give a prospect of interest a gift of jewelry, I would give her the whole thing. _Half_?" He frowned, uncrossing his arms to fill both of their glasses.

At the recognition of the empty bottle, he stood to retrieve another one from her cabinet, following where she was pointing him to.

"It's _symbolic_." Hermione protested. She huffed, "No, Malfoy, _that_ cupboard. Honestly."

He trotted back over and topped off their glasses with the dark liquid, neither minding the impropriety of the warm temperature of the liquid. There was a large thud following a crack as Harry and Ginny both appeared in the kitchen that Draco had just vacated to resume his position on the sofa beside Hermione.

"They look like they're getting along," Harry slurred.

Ginny nodded in agreeance, then whispered – not really, she merely shouted in a raspy tone, but both Hermione and Draco were too preoccupied to pay them any attention – that Hermione and Draco had been spending a lot of time together, and that both seemed to benefit from it.

Meanwhile, Hermione and Draco continued arguing about the symbolism – or lack thereof – of various points of the film, neither looking up to notice Harry throwing his arms around Ginny's waist and leading her into her room, both clearly inebriated as they bumped into numerous surfaces and cursing them for their ill-advised placement in the room.

"I'm just saying, why did they choose that the be their name when it's evident there was certainly no food or coffee available during their detention? Also, none of their prospective stereotypes had anything to do with breakfast." He suggested.

Hermione groaned, throwing her hands in the air, "That's not the point!"

She continued her tirade of explaining the meaning behind the friendships in the film as she picked out two more films and held them up for his inspection. Draco, not breaking from his counterargument, motioned for the one in her left hand. She dutifully swapped the films and settled back into the sofa. He instinctively let his arm rest behind her head as she leaned her shoulder into his chest. Both of them continued their bickering until the opening scene started, then a silence fell between them with neither having to tell the other.

" _You read the Bible, Ringo? Well, there's this passage I've got memorized. Ezekiel 25:17. . ._ _I've been saying that shit for years, and if you heard it that meant your ass. I never gave much thought to what it meant, I just thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say . . . before I popped a cap in his ass."_

Draco's chest shook beneath Hermione, causing her to bounce slightly as she lay on top of him. They were currently sprawled out on the sofa, with him positioned behind her, his elbow propped up so that he could see the film in front of them.

She tilted her head to the side to see him stifling a laugh and covering his mouth with his free hand before muttering an apology for the interruption and returning his hand to her hip.

It rested lightly, barely any pressure at all, but she had been inanely aware of its presence the entire second film and had noticed its weight leave for even the fraction of the instance.

She blushed and returned her own gaze to the end scene, excited to see what he had to say about this one. Clearly, it was more his style as far as classic muggle films went. Perhaps, if she was lucky, he'd even outright admit how much he enjoyed it _in spite_ of its muggle origins.

Hermione levitated the empty glasses and bottles into the sink and the bin, respectively, then cast a mischievous grin over her shoulder at Draco.

"You can admit that you liked it," she offered.

He stretched, reaching his hands high above his head, revealing a small clearance of skin between his trousers and the hem of his shirt, causing Hermione to forcibly divert her gaze before he noticed and hide the heat that warmed her cheeks as unspeakable thoughts buried themselves in her mind.

Draco in turn, luckily for her having not noticed her watching him, shrugged and wandered over to the kitchen and leaned against the counter beside her as she dried the glasses and set them aside.

"It's just me," she added. "I won't tell."

His grey eyes lingered on her, taking her in. The smell of roses as intoxicating now as they had been for the duration of the film as he held her to his chest with the scent of her shampoo wafting through his senses.

"It is you," he finally murmured in response.

Then, breaking from his reverie, physically stepped back and leaned on the kitchen island opposite her in order to put some distance between them and clear his mind. They were just friends. This is just for the contract. Nothing more.

"It was good,"

"It was more than good. If I may be so bold, Malfoy, I recall you actually _enjoyed_ it and – dare I say it? – _laughed_?" She grinned.

He crossed his arms over his chest, "All right, whatever Granger, that second one was brilliant."

"Yes!" She beamed, "I knew you'd like it."

"Same time next week, then?" He asked.

"Sure," she agreed.

* * *

The firepit in the living room of Hermione's flat turned a deep emerald green before a tall blonde stepped gracefully out of the flames, tossing a coffee cup in her direction.

"Come on," Draco beckoned, motioning for her to stand and join him.

"But I just – " She stuttered. She glanced between the cup in her hand and the one noticeably absent from his. "Where's your coffee?"

He shrugged. "I don't drink coffee, Granger."

"No, I specifically recall the last _two months_ you walked in with a cup in your hand!"

"Yes," he groaned, straightening the navy tie he threw on in a haste that morning. He had woken up late, accidentally smashing his alarm clock to pieces the night before, and therefore was in a terrible hurry not to be late for work. He raked his long fingers through his hair – he'd prioritized that first this in the morning, so it looked perfectly in place, as per usual – and let out a loud emphatic sigh. He gave Hermione a pointed stare. "It was tea. I always had tea. The coffee was just for you, now will you _please_ hurry up and get over here."

He gestured to his outstretched arm, awaiting hers to loop into it as it did every morning on their way to the Ministry.

"I – " She stopped herself again. She found her throat dry at his confession, and without much else going through her mind, dumbly pointed to the newspaper she held in the hand that wasn't holding onto her precious cup of joe.

"I haven't finished the crossword, yet."

Her first coherent sentence since he walked through the floo and it was a disaster. She sounded like a child.

Draco blinked several times; he contemplated withholding another confession, but after glancing at the old clock on her wall, he decided he'd better not risk missing the morning meeting. Sure, his office was especially laid back, but that doesn't mean they occasionally got their shit together and forced him to appear on time or suffer an enormous pile of paperwork to drown himself in for the remainder of the afternoon.

He let out a sigh, bit his lip, and met her curious brown eyes.

"Portmanteau."

"What?" She asked.

"That's the one you're missing, right?" He said, gesturing to the newspaper. "Ten down. Portkey Portmanteau. That's the object."

She blinked at him, then peered down at the puzzle before looking up and meeting his darkened grey eyes.

"How did you – "

"Granger," he glanced nervously at the clock, "I don't have _time_."

She p

She robotically placed the newspaper on the counter, grabbed her coat and cup of coffee and linked her arm in his. They apparated to the atrium, to which he wanted to flee from in hopes of making it to the meeting in time.

Except, Draco caught the dreamy look on her face that told him her mind was far off in another place and she needed to be coaxed back to reality. He sighed inwardly and pulled her off to the side, away from the hustling and bustling of the crowds of witches and wizards going through their morning commute.

"Hey," he said to her, tilting her chin up with his knuckles so that she would meet his eyes.

"You knew?"

"I knew."

She bit her lip. "Why didn't you ever say anything before? I've done that puzzle every morning, and usually I have some rant about the final word I got stuck on and you," she paused to take a shaky breath, "you just let me go on?"

"Yes." He replied.

"Why?"

He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutinizing look, having now returned to reality full-force.

"Because you're an insufferable swot and I didn't want you to think it was some competition. Because it's not. Clearly, I would win. Besides, you get all antsy and freak out when you're competitive and I'm not entirely fond of it," He finally said, managing to find some solid footing in a safe lie.

She eyed him, "I do not," she muttered. "Freak out, I mean."

He laughed, "Oh, yes, you do! Do you recall last movie night? When you _demanded_ that I – "

"Ok, fine. That _one_ time!" She argued.

"Then, there was the first quidditch match I brought you along for? You said that – "

"I get it!" She shouted. "I get the point. No need to beat a dead horse,"

He scoffed and crossed his arms. "Your words, Granger, not mine. I'm just saying, that I withheld the answers to the crossword for a good reason. You're a lunatic."

She pouted.

He leaned closer, tucking a curl that had sprung free of her plait behind her ear, and whispered against her ear, "You are a lunatic," his lips brushed against her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine, "but you're my lunatic."

When he straightened, he offered her a wayward grin and nodded behind her. She craned her neck slowly, eying a familiar dark-haired witch, not even a meter away, who had been clearly eavesdropping on their private conversation.

Astoria.

Hence his last commentary. She shuddered, dispelling the dirty thought that had briefly crossed her mind and turned back to face him.

He winked at her and left to head for the lifts, "See you at lunch, Granger."

They were just friends, she reminded herself painfully. This was just for the contract. Nothing more.

* * *

Malfoy strolled into her humble office for what felt like the millionth time. She had to give him credit, he'd been strict with keeping to his promise to stop by every day with a small bouquet of flowers – today it was baby's breath scattered among the blooming sunshine daisies – and escorted her to their usual spot in the park of Muggle London.

She'd come to look forward to their daily lunches; after the second week of him stealing her baby carrots, and scolding her for the amount of hummus she doused them in, she started packing an extra handful of them with a side of ranch (because for some unknown reason he preferred _that_ fatty nightmare as opposed to hers).

"Hey," she greeted, looking up from her toppling stack of files to see his face – slightly flushed with caused her to immediately wonder what he'd been up – and offer him a small smile. "I'll just be one more minute."

He nodded, replacing the flowers from the day before – gardenias from his mother's garden – with the ones he held in his hands. He remained quiet, anxiously pacing in front of her desk, until she finally snapped the file shut and stood abruptly.

"I have news," she started, rising from her uncomfortable chair. He arched a brow in her direction, and she continued, "I got approval." A blank expression. "For the elf welfare law. They've approved the draft and have agreed to fit it into the next meeting. It's amazing really, this time next year there could be _an elf_ on the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It would give them their own voice, it's everything I – "

"Granger," His expression visibly shifted; his eyes widened, and a smile crept up on his stiff lips. "That's brilliant! I'm so proud of you."

He closed the distance between them and enveloped her in a soul-crushing embrace. She felt her feet leave the floor as he twirled her around, and when he let her feet touch the floor, she was breathless.

His lips parted slightly. A detail of which she was painfully aware of due to their proximity. If she wanted to – which was something she certainly wasn't going to admit, not even to herself – she could have brushed her lips against his with the slightest inclination of her head. She could taste the sweet, spice of his lips. But she didn't. Instead, he released his tight grip on her ribs and stepped away from her, then cleared his throat.

For a moment, she sincerely wished she'd kissed him. It had been nearly three months since their last kiss. Sure, she'd been the one to make that rule in their contract, but still.

Hermione internally reprimanded herself and turned her attention elsewhere. Literally anywhere else except for his intense grey gaze.

He shifted uneasily between each foot, then continued pacing her office as she attempted to organize the papers on her desk as she let her pulse decrease to an acceptable resting rhythm.

"What's wrong?" She asked, finally addressing his anxious behavior.

"Nothing," he replied with a purse of his lips and a slight shrug.

She reached for her lunchbox, pointedly ignored Harry's and Ron's stares in the hallway, and entered the lift behind him. When they were alone in the small space, she turned to him with a stern look on her face.

"Tell me."

He sighed, "I won't be able to make lunch tomorrow."

"Oh," she said. It wasn't as if one day without him would kill her – she was pretty sure – but she forced her tense shoulders into a nonchalant shrug and nodded. "That's fine."

"I have a work thing," he explained, though both of them knew it wasn't necessary.

"Sure. Don't worry about it." Her lips twitched into an uneasy smile. "One day without you won't kill me," she continued. "I did survive lunch before you waltzed into my life."

He scoffed, sensing her attempt to lighten the mood among the stale air in the lift, and added, "Oh, sure, I recall. The cupboard."

She avoided his smirk and taunting gaze, "Shut up, Malfoy."

As he promised, Malfoy was not present the following day to pick her up for their lunch break. She opted, instead of wandering through the Ministry alone, to eat at her desk. As it turned out, a smug-looking redhead had noticed the absence of a notorious blonde.

"Malfoy finally get tired of you?" Ron said, leaning on the doorframe of her office.

"No," she snapped. "He's just busy."

"Ah, is that what you two are calling it, now?"

"What are you on about?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied with a very unsuccessfully feigned shrug of carelessness. "I saw him chatting up with Astoria is all and figured you'd finally called it quits when you realized he'd gone back to her. Guess I thought too much of you."

His words stung more than she'd like to admit, but Hermione was determined not to let him get to her. She trusted Malfoy and knew that if Ron _was_ telling the truth and he was talking with Astoria instead of spending lunch with her, he had a good reason.

"Bogger off," she said, returning her focus to the work before her, having lost her appetite despite not finishing her lunch.

"Miss. Hermione Granger?" A tentative voice said. A tall, gorgeous blonde woman poked her head in the open doorway, actively trying not to stand between Hermione and Ron.

"Yes?" She asked impatiently.

"I have a delivery for you," The woman stepped sheepishly into her office space and placed a vase with an enormous bouquet of roses and baby's breaths on the only bare corner of Hermione's desk. "Just need you to sign here, Ma'am."

Hermione scribbled a quick signature and thanked the woman who dashed past a gaping mouthed Ron in order to escape the stifling tension in the air of her office.

"Is that from _him_?" Ron prodded, "It's probably some sort of sad apology, right? Trying to make up for his time with Astoria, I bet. I wouldn't put it past the scoundrel.

"Will you quit it?" She snapped, swatting his hand away as they both reached for the note sticking prominently from atop the gorgeous bouquet.

Ron crossed his arms but didn't leave her office. It was clear he wasn't going anywhere until she addressed who sent her the flowers.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh and plucked the note from its clip but couldn't contain her gasp as she read the perfect scripture.

_Miss. Granger,_

_Although I am not supportive of this new law of yours, I congratulate you on your ability to successfully lobby and secure a hearing for it. I still hope it doesn't pass, but nonetheless, you deserve ample recognition for such a feat of even presenting it._

_Narcissa Black_

"It's a break-up bouquet, isn't it?" Ron asked, growing irater the longer her silence went on.

He snatched the note from her hands. Hermione watched as the grimace on his face deepened, and then felt heat rise to her cheeks as he gave her a nasty once-over before thrusting the note back into her grasp and stomping out of her office. Hermione couldn't help it and let a giggle slip from her rosy lips, tentatively placing a finger over them to stop the smile forming from growing any more.

* * *

"TEN POINTS TO THE CHUDLEY CANNONS!"

The announcer's voice boomed through the stadium as a red-clad woman zoomed past the stands with her fist in the air, celebrating the goal that put her team at the advantage over the previously tied score.

It was a slow, unrelenting match and Hermione was absolutely bored out of her mind. To make matters worse, Draco was completely enraptured in the game. More notably, he was intently focused on the players of the Chudley Cannons. She knew it was only because it was part of his job – he'd dragged her to enough matches now that even she, despite her best efforts, came to understand some of the statistics of the players and the teams – but it still made her stomach turn as his grey eyes followed the beautiful brunette soar across the field. In the back of her mind, a voice reminded her that he hadn't brought up his _supposed_ conversation with Astoria that he'd ditched her at lunch for.

She had to remind herself it meant nothing, and more importantly, it didn't matter if it had. He wasn't hers. They were only friends using each other. It wasn't real.

Hermione slipped out a novel that she'd stowed in her bag and flipped to the bookmarked page. Unfortunately, she'd barely been able to read the third word in the first sentence before it was ripped from her hands.

"Hey!" She protested.

Draco shook his head and tsk-ed at her. "No reading at the matches."

"But I'm _bored_." She lamented.

"Tough luck, Granger, a deal's a deal. Besides, you've managed to make it through the previous matches without pulling out a," – he glanced at the cover and grimaced at the embracing couple – "a romance novel. No need to start now."

"It's not like I'm the one who has to pay attention. This is your job, not mine."

He smirked, "So, stop distracting me then."

She frowned; her lips protruding in a childlike pout. She extended an arm in hopes of retrieving the book back from his grip. No such luck.

"Nope," he said. "You're not getting this back until the match is over."

"Rude."

"Thank you," he grinned.

Then, to her dismay, he turned his attention back to the Cannons and away from her. She sulked for the remainder of the game – which thankfully was only another twenty minutes – and then followed him towards the exit.

This particular match was well-watched which meant that the usual crowd that she had – again, against her will – become a part of was also accompanied by traveling fans of the two teams. This was the quarterfinal match, and with the Montrose Magpies having just lost, that meant that the Chudley Cannons advanced to the semi-finals.

Hermione huddled closely behind Draco in the sea of red, clasping onto his forearm and digging her nails into his skin so as not to get separated by the zealous fans cheering and whooping their way out of the stands and towards the portkey.

He slipped a hand around her waist and tugged her to the side once they were in the open field, and then apparated both of them to the living room of her flat.

"How was it?" Ginny asked.

Her feet were propped up on Harry's lap, both of them lounging on the sofa. She threw a loose piece of popcorn towards his gaping mouth. Astonishingly, he managed to catch it despite his glasses being on the table a few meters away.

"Oh, it was brilliant." Draco replied, moving to sit on the lone armchair. He waved a hand, inviting her to throw a popcorn his way. She did and he caught it with much more grace than Harry previously displayed. "Beatriz was a beast. She scored more than half of their points alone," – Hermione gathered he was referring to the beautiful brunette and grimaced as she slid into a seat on the floor, positioning herself between his calves. "You're going to have one hell of a game when you play them, She-Weasel."

Although Ginny had given Malfoy the green light to call her by her actual name, it became an ongoing joke that he still called her this nickname. It lacked any malice it may have previously adorned, and therefore when he used it just now, she replied with a mischievous grin.

"I'm not worried about Beatriz," she commented. "She should be worried about _me_. And Nora."

Nora was Ginny's best girlfriend on her team. She, directly quoted from another similar interaction between Draco and Ginny, was a _force to be reckoned with_ according to Draco.

Hermione was well aware that their shop talk and swap of statistical information on the team's was highly against Draco's job description. He was certainly breaking at least three codes of conduct just by having this conversation, much less having it after every match they'd attended.

He nodded in agreeance, "It's going to be a good game."

She turned her gaze toward Hermione, playfully tossing a popcorn that she batted away rather than attempt – and most likely fail – to catch in her mouth.

"You going to be there?" She asked.

Hermione repressed a groan, sure she was happy to support her best friend, but she knew this match would be infinitely more obnoxious and rambunctious, which she loathed.

"Absolutely," she confirmed. Draco beamed.

"Well, I'd better get going," he said.

"No," Ginny waved at him dismissively, causing him to sit back down in the armchair. "You should stay for game night."

"Game night?" He asked, shooting Hermione an inquisitive look.

She reminded herself to admonish Ginny later for interfering. To be fair, _she_ didn't know that their relationship was a sham and probably wondered why Hermione had never invited him to game night earlier.

"Game night," she confirmed, offering a weary smile. "She's right, you should stay." _Lie._

He eyed her, keeping his intense grey eyes locked on her. He internalized her micro expressions before letting a smile form on his lips. He broke their engagement to give Ginny a nod, "Sure. I'd love to."

An hour – and much too much of Ogden's – later, Hermione sat across from Ginny at the coffee table, stifling a laugh as Draco stared down Harry. Harry had won the first card game they played, causing Draco to lean away from Hermione and focus strictly on the game at hand. The next game they played; Draco won.

Now, they sat across from each other with matching glares and smug expression pulling at their mouths. The most recent card game – the one Harry was notorious for destroying Ginny and Hermione in every week – proved to be the most interesting for the girls. They'd quickly lost in the first round, but Harry and Draco had tied. On the first tie-breaker round, Draco had the upper hand. On the second; Harry did. Now, it was the third and final attempt at a tie-breaker.

Harry narrowed his jewel-toned eyes at Draco. Draco lifted his chin with a smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny. Ginny's shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"3. . . 2. . . 1!" Hermione shouted.

Both boys showed their hand. Draco leapt up and pointed a finger in Harry's direction, "HA!"

He gingerly returned to his seat on the floor and leaned back against the sofa behind him with his arms crossed over his chest; a genuine look of triumph stretched over his face.

Meanwhile, Harry scoffed, "You got lucky, Malfoy."

"Please, Potter, nobody likes a sore loser."

"Bogger off," he retorted.

Hermione and Ginny rolled onto the floor with laughter. When she came back up for air, she wiped liquid away from the corner of her eyes and patted Draco on the shoulder.

"You should definitely come to game night more often," she said. "I've never seen Harry bested at that game."

"Honestly," Ginny added. She shot Harry an apologetic look and shrugged, "What? It gets boring when you win all the time. Hermione and I don't stand a chance." – he sullenly glared at her – "Oh, come off it. You know I love you."

He sighed and pulled her into an embrace, whispering sweet nothings in her ear while wrestling her to the floor.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked anxiously over at Draco. His smug look still strewn over his face. He elbowed her in the ribs, "How come you've never invited me over for game night before?" He asked.

She swallowed, "It wasn't in the contract." _Lie_.

"Mhmm," he nodded.

He didn't believe her. On one hand, it was a fair point that it wasn't included in their contract of mutually destructive and inclusive activities, however, on the other hand, they'd also hung out on several occasions without any obligation to contractual activities.

He shrugged it off, brushing dust from his trousers as he stood. "Better be going, it's getting late." She nodded weakly. "Night, Granger."

"Wait," she said. He released the handful of green powder and stepped away from the fireplace.

Hermione suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit her. She hadn't quite placed the source of her uneasy stomach until Draco threatened to leave for the night. It was when she realized something truly terrifying: she didn't want him to leave.

Over the past three months, they'd spent most of every day together. They'd learned each other's bad habits and, after much teasing, come to appreciate them. At first, she loathed when Draco forced her to leave the comfort of her sofa and the company of a good book on a Saturday night in favor of a new, exciting bar that opened in Diagon. But he didn't let her bail on second or third weekend either. After a while, she ended up being the one rushing _him_ out the door. In contrast, she arranged a new time slot for their quiet-night-in on Sunday evenings, forcing him to accompany her to her favorite bookstore in Diagon and share the throw on her sofa, letting the warmth spread between them as the sky darkened and they slipped in one of her muggle films, settling in for the night with a glass of Merlot.

When his grey eyes were focused on her – much like they were at the moment – she felt a familiar shiver run down her spine as the rest of the room disappeared. There were no sounds except for the ones he whispered in her ear. There were no distractions that could compare to the lightest touch of his skin against hers. When he brushed his knuckles against hers in the lift as they reached her floor. When he caressed her cheek as inconspicuously as he could manage while tucking a wild curl behind her ear. Even when his fingers flicked at her nose when she was eying the pastries on his plate too closely over brunch.

Hermione had figured this moment was inevitable. Statistics would prove just so. For how long can someone spend at someone's side before either falling irreparably and hopelessly in love with them or realizing how much they despise them. She had expected the latter when drafting up the contract and agreeing to this heinous deal in the first place. As is turned out, fate had thrown its weight behind the former.

The nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her of why they'd even started this in the first place.

To make their exes jealous. Personally, she'd stopped caring about what Ron thought long ago and hadn't even realized it until this moment. Could it be possible that somewhere along the way, Draco had done the same thing? Had he also stopped paying attention to every little thing Astoria did? Who she was with? What her reaction to something they did might be?

She wanted to believe Draco could return her feelings. That he could have recklessly let himself get caught up in their relationship just as she had.

But, yet again, that little voice in her head opposed. It scolded her for being so foolish. For had he not spent the other day with Astoria instead of her? Had he not already shown his hand?

And, from what Hermione now knew, Draco did _not_ have a stoic poker face.

Hermione snapped out of her internal reverie and met Draco's expectant grey eyes. The familiar chill ran up her spine, the tiny hairs on her arms standing erect, but she didn't let herself get trapped under his spell. Because if she did, she may not have had the courage to say what she said next.

"I think we should call it off."

"What?" He blinked several times. "What are you talking about?" He repeated.

"This," she gestured to the space between them. "Our deal. The contract. Everything. I'm calling it off. We're done. We did what we agreed to do."

Her heart was racing. His grey eyes narrowed as his lips – previously turned up in a careless smile – angled downwards into a deep grimace.

"Granger,"

"No, I'm serious." She sputtered; the more he talked, the less confident she became.

"I know. But you can't do this. Not now." _Not with the gala so soon_. He didn't have to explicitly remind her. She knew.

"I can't – " She broke off. He was unraveling her. Piece by piece. "There's no point in continuing. Ron's sufficiently jealous."

His eyes darkened, glinting in the dim lighting. "Do you plan on getting back together with him?"

"No," she admitted breathlessly.

"Then, why now?" He pressed.

She shook her head. She couldn't be trusted not to unwind completely if she even so much as _attempted_ to answer that one.

"Hold off," he continued. "Hold off on that thought. Just until the gala is over with. It's too soon now to call it quits. There's no way I'm showing up there alone and if neither of us – or even one of us – doesn't go it'll be obvious that something's up." He reasoned.

She chewed her lip.

"Just – " He sighed deeply. "Just wait, ok? Until after the gala. We can arrange some dramatic, choreographed break up for everyone to see after, if that will make you happy. Just not yet." He could see her slowly taking in everything he was saying, and right when he could see that she was about to protest, he added, " _Please._ "

That one word. That damned word.

He never said. At least, if she recalled correctly, he very rarely said it. It meant something to him. She felt the last piece of her will unravel and hit rock bottom with a tremendous thud.

"Fine," She agreed.

He nodded.

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

He didn't return the sentiment, instead, he grabbed a fistful of green powder and stepped into the flames.

* * *

"GIN!" She shouted through their flat, scurrying out from her room to find the person of interest lying face down on the floor.

Hermione entered her flatmate's room and gingerly kicked at her thigh.

"Hey," she said. Another kick. Nothing. Another. Nope. Another.

"ALL RIGHT." Ginny mumble-shouted. Her face was pressed into the floor with her hair spread around her head like flames rising in the fire.

She rolled onto her back and glared up at Hermione. "What?"

"What do _you mean_ 'what'?" Hermione threw her arms up in the air and kicked the girl again. "Get up! I'm having a crisis and I need you!"

"Hermione, I'm _exhausted_. Can't this wait thirty minutes? I'm busy." She rolled back over onto her stomach and feigned rambunctious snores emphatically.

"NO, YOU'RE NOT." Hermione insisted, squatting to force Ginny to roll back over. " _Please_ , come on, Gin. You can nap after, when the Twisted Sisters show up."

"Oh, _no_ ," Ginny groaned, sitting up so that she and Hermione were eye-to-eye. "Do they _have_ to come, Mione? Seriously?"

"Listen, I'm not pleased about it either, but they insisted. Plus, we both know I'm useless so, honestly, the more the merrier."

Ginny sighed, dragged her hands down her face and let out another groan.

"Fine, FINE." She rose to her feet, helping Hermione stand with her. "What is it?" She moved over to her bed and patted the space beside her.

Unlike Hermione's room, Ginny's was spotless. Her bed was even made. It was every morning, even despite the girl's pre-dawn practices, which irritated Hermione to no end. How was it that Ginny managed to _do everything_?

"Well," she started, plopping down on the duvet. "I think Draco and I should break up."

There. Straight to the point. No bullshit; just the way she knew Ginny liked it.

"Seriously?" Ginny's face shot back; her eyebrows arched to the ceiling. "Why?"

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. She'd already had to phrase the previous statement incorrectly in order not to reveal how _insane_ she truly was for arranging the contract and agreement with Draco, but how was she supposed to word this?

_Sorry, Gin, don't know how else to put it: we've been lying to you for three months and now that I actually have real feelings and am terrified of commitment no thanks to your idiot brother, I have to end things so I won't get more hurt. That's cool right?_

That won't work.

"Because," she said. "It's just not working out. We aren't compatible." _Lie._

Ginny scoffed, "Yeah, _okay_. I don't buy it. What's the real reason? Is it because he's bad in bed? Ugh, I totally get it, if that's the case – "

"No!" Hermione cut in. "I mean, I wouldn't _know_ , but– "

" _You wouldn't know?_ " Ginny outright laughed. She wiped a tear away from the corner of her eye after regaining her composure, "Mione, that's your problem. What the hell are you waiting for?"

"I – Err – Uh," What the hell was she supposed to say to _that_? "We're just not compatible."

"Listen," Ginny continued. She held her hand tightly between her own, then looked at Hermione with a much more sincere expression. "Hermione, that's just not true. You two are _incredibly_ compatible. I've never seen you happier. You know I wouldn't bullshit you," – _True._ – "and I'm certainly the last person, along with Harry, who would ever, _ever_ approve of Malfoy, much less _like_ him," – _Also, true._ – "So, whatever it is that's really bothering you, work it out. Talk to him. Don't call it off, not yet."

Rats.

"So," Hermione said sheepishly, "I probably shouldn't ditch him or the gala, right?"

Ginny shook her head, then ran a finger through Hermione's wild curls. "Oh, you stupid, stupid girl. No." She smiled sweetly at Hermione. "You absolutely cannot do that. I don't care what Malfoy has to say, you are not abandoning me to endure Harry's horrible dancing skills alone."

Hermione let a peel of laughter escape her tight-lined lips. "All right, Gin. Fine, you win. I'll go."

"Good," Ginny promptly shoved her off the bed and chuckled as Hermione landed ungracefully on the bedroom floor. "Now, please leave me to nap in peace until the Twisted Sisters show up."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

"Hermione!" Came a sing-song-y voice before three loud thuds of a fist against their front door.

"Oops," Hermione winced, shooting Ginny an apologetic shrug.

"Ugh!" She groaned, throwing a pillow over her face and letting the remainder of her scream dissolve into the feathered square.

Daphne danced into the flat with handfuls of dresses in garment carriers with a pageant-winning smile across her rouge lips. Her perfect golden hair lay in waves that bounced as she twirled and admired the interior design of Hermione's flat.

"So cute and cozy!"

"She means that as an insult," Pansy remarked, stepping into the flat clad in a velvet slip and black kitten heels paired with dark plum lips spreading as she smirked.

"I did not," Daphne scoffed, then glared at Pansy before returning her attention to Hermione, who suddenly felt immensely self-conscious in her oversized sleep shirt and fluffy slippers. "Where's your room?" She asked brightly.

Hermione pointed. Ginny poked her head out of the one across from hers and leaned against her doorframe.

"Ginny Weasley!" Daphne cooed. "Oh, my, you're going to this gala, too, aren't you? Yes, of course, you are! Silly me," She lifted the dozens of dresses in her arms, "Care to join us?"

Ginny opened her mouth to vehemently protest the idea, but Hermione stepped in between her and Daphne and nodded vigorously.

"She'd _love_ to!" Hermione said.

"Lovely!" Daphne said.

" _Great,_ " Pansy rolled her eyes and followed Daphne into Hermione's – recently cleaned – bedroom.

Ginny shot Hermione a murderous glare, but Hermione smiled cheekily in response and pulled her into the bedroom after the Twisted Sisters.

Hours – and too much hairspray – later, Hermione and Ginny were prim-perfect and ready for anything the night decided to throw at them. Daphne and Pansy stood back and admired their work with intensely critiquing stares before finally nodding to each other. Having received the official final approval, Hermione and Ginny both sent owls to their respective dates and let them know that they were going to head over to the place where the gala was being hosted soon.

She found him immediately. He was hard to miss what with his starkly blonde hair and meticulous build, or perhaps, that was just because Hermione had become adept at singling him out in a crowd. Even among a sea of dress robes and glittering gowns.

Her own gown was floor-length, rose gold, and elastic satin that clung to her body in the most pleasing manner. Buttery as silk and draping off her shoulders in such an enticing way that even _Pansy_ admitted she didn't want to take her eyes off of Hermione. Luckily, while the soft silk-like fabric clung to her upper body, the A-line – Daphne's taste was truly impeccable – skirt had a slit that ran so high up her thigh she had no choice but to abandon any hope of wearing anything underneath. Not that the low, open-back or thin satin would have allowed it anyway.

Draco strode over to greet her as she waved him down, and then brushed his lips against her knuckles, murmuring her name against them. Hermione tried – unsuccessfully – not to melt and pulled away from his touch much too quickly. He noticed the apprehension and refrained from touching her, instead shoving his hand in his trouser pocket and gesturing her forward deeper into the ballroom. Her thoughts swarmed with the pleasant memories of the last time they stood on a dance floor not too dissimilar to this one.

"You look nice," She commented in attempt to lift the awkward silence.

"As do you," He replied. Ever the gentleman.

In reality, Draco was forcing himself not to let his gaze linger on her for too long or he would say something he'd regret. She'd made it perfectly clear the other day how she felt about their situation. About them. About him.

_Everything. I'm calling it off. We're done._

A knife in his heart.

He'd been afraid to admit it, knowing her flighty tendency, but he'd fallen for her amidst their stupid agreement. Early on, if he was being honest with himself. It was why he'd met with Astoria about a month ago to tell her to leave him _alone_. He'd moved on and advised that she do the same. Though, as it turned out, the recipient of his affections had moved on as well.

_There's no point in continuing._

His fist clenched and unclenched in his pocket, driving his fingernails deeper into his palm every time.

_We're done._

He suddenly felt fever hit. His pulse racing, heart throbbing, and perspiration forming where his collar hugged his neck.

"Drinks," he spat. Then cleared his throat so as to come off more normal. "I'm going to get us some drinks."

"Fine." She said.

He turned on his heel and darted away from her, desperate for air. Desperate to get away from her. To escape the lethal combination of the scent of roses and her golden silk gown.

Hermione sighed and fell into the nearest available seat with an enormous weight on her chest. Why did he have to be so good to her? Why did he have to look _so good_ for her?

No, she reprimanded herself. Not for you. It was never for you. Just friends. Just the contract.

That's all it was: obligations masked in temptations and wrapped in a pretty satin bow.

"Hermione," came a voice from behind her. She turned to see a familiar mop of black hair and round frames smiling down at her. He gestured to the chair beside her, "This seat taken?" She shook her head and he sat down.

He granted her a minute of comfortable silence before ripping the band-aid.

"Ginny told me you wanted to break things off with Malfoy."

She winced. "I'm going to kill her." He gave her a pointed look. "Ok, maybe not kill. But definitely maim or seriously injure." She amended.

He sighed, "Don't be mad at her. She's only trying to help. She couldn't understand why you'd want to end something you both seem so happy to be involved in. Honestly, I don't quite get it either." He motioned to himself as if to say, _Hence, why I'm currently sitting here talking to you instead of dancing with my very hot, very in-love-with-me girlfriend_.

"Harry," She started. "There's so much you don't know."

"So, tell me."

"I – " She bit her lip. "I don't think you'll like me very much if I tell you."

"Try me," one corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile.

So, she did. Hermione told him everything. She finally let it all out – the agreement, the contract, their time together, how she felt so foolish for falling for him in the end – and it felt _freeing_. She felt the weight that bore down on her lift, allowing her to take her first real breath of the night.

"Hmm," Harry finally said after she finished venting to him. "Can I be honest with you, Mione?"

"Please,"

"I don't think you're foolish at all." She blinked; her brows furrowed at his comment. He continued, "Listen, I may not know much, certainly not as much as you," – " _Harry_ ," – "No, let me finish. I may not know much, but I know how men's brains work. Or _don't_ work. I can tell Malfoy really likes you. Not just for the agreement. I noticed it a while ago, actually. He's different around you. Different around loads of people, Gin and I included, and I can tell," He broke off, clasping her hand between his. "I can tell that he cares for you."

"Really? How?"

Harry laughed, "Honestly? It's this thing he does with his face when he's looking at you and he thinks no one's watching. It scrunches up in a fit of confusion. He looks at you like you're some pretty, little crossword puzzle and he's trying to figure you out, but he seems to be having a good enough time trying."

Hermione felt something stir in her core. She opened her mouth to argue, but Harry shook his head and motioned for her to be quiet, then stood up and offered a tight smile to an approaching tall blonde.

Harry clapped Draco on the back of his shoulder before disappearing into the dancing crowd in search of Ginny, leaving Hermione and Draco by themselves in the corner table.

Draco extended a hand with a tall chute of champagne in it for her to take. She reached for it and, as her fingers brushed his, felt an electric shock course through her veins.

Their eyes locked as an intimately familiar song echoed through the large room and Hermione was overwhelmed with adoration. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and press her warm lips to his.

Because Harry was right. With the way Draco was looking at her with his silvery, grey eyes it so, _so_ obvious. _He_ had fallen for _her_ , too.

Draco was the one who suggested that they fake dated in the first place. He was the one who returned her kiss with a feverish one. He was the one who had consistently helped her even before they'd created the fake relationship.

Hermione had been the one to implement the No PDA rule. She was the one who tried to break things off.

Hermione gulped the remainder of the champagne she had been blindly sipping at amidst her internal revelation and set the glass loudly on the table, then stood and held out her hand for him to take.

"Dance with me?"

Thankfully, he spared her any antagonizing comment that would have helped heal his pride and took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers as they made their way to the dance floor.

A slow, melodic song transcended from the speakers and created a hazy enchantment in the crowd as couples fell closely together and swayed romantically in each other's arms. Hermione and Draco were no exception. She placed his hands on her hips and wrapped her own around his neck, scraping a nail up the top of his spine and toying with the short platinum strands at the base of his head.

" _If I would have known that you wanted me_

_The way I wanted you_

_Then maybe we wouldn't be two worlds apart_

_But right here in each other's arms_

_Here we almost, we almost knew what love was_

_But almost is never enough"_

The gentle piano chords faded, and Hermione stood on the balls of her feet, bringing her closer to Draco and angled her chin up so that there was only a breath between them. When she spoke, her lips touched his.

"I don't want an almost love. I want the real thing – the whole thing – and I think we have that, Draco. And that terrifies me."

He didn't reply. At least not in the conventional way. Instead, he bent his knees to lift her off the floor and pull her against his chest, closing the space between them and taking her breath in his.

His lips were against hers, but only barely – exploring. It could hardly be categorized as a kiss, and yet it had meant everything to her.

"There is no one like you, Granger," He sighed, releasing her from his embrace.

She stared up into his grey eyes and reveled in the dangerous gleam that shone as he pressed his lips to hers with much more hunger and passion – sure of what he wanted this time. She took him in, gasping against his parted lips as he slid a tongue along her bottom lip.

Hermione broke away with much effort, then tugged him away from the dance floor with an enthusiastic stride. She spun to face him at the edge of the crowd.

"Let's get out of here," she said, breathless.

"I thought you'd never ask." He smirked.

* * *

Light shone through the sheer curtains of Hermione's bedroom, awakening her long before she'd planned on getting up. She tried to roll over away from the invasive light in hopes of falling back asleep, but there was no chance of her moving any time soon with the deadweight of Draco's left arm and leg hooked onto her.

She sighed and accepted her fate after her third failed attempt to move out from under his grip.

Her mind wandered back to memories of last night.

_His breath hot on her inner thighs; a nip of his teeth against her skin caused a moan to slip from between her lips._

" _Here?"_

" _Yes, yes,_ there _. Don't stop,"_

_His tongue unrelenting against her clit. His deft fingers making slow, rhythmic, tantalizing motions that brought her near the edge._

" _Draco," she gasped._

" _Say it." He demanded._

" _I love you," she whimpered._ Truth.

" _Again."_

" _I love you. I want you, I – "_

_His fingers and tongue withholding much needed friction and Hermione felt herself start to rub against him herself, panting._

" _I_ need _you, Draco."_

_She came violently. Her body spasmed and pulsed, and he held her, letting her ride out the orgasm._

That had been her first of numerous orgasms last night. Him too.

A finger brushed against her temple then gripped her chin and tilted her face toward its owner. Grey eyes softened upon seeing her brown ones looking at him in complete and utter adoration. He gave her a small, crooked smile.

"Morning, Granger,"

"Morning, Malfoy." She replied.

He pressed his lips gently against hers. She slid a tongue along his bottom lip, which parted and allowed their tongues to intertwine and slide along each other.

One hand firmly placed on his chest with the other on his ribs, digging into his flesh and pulling him closer to her.

"Draco," she whispered against his neck.

"Yes?" He asked. A kiss to her sweat-slicked forehead, tasting salt and smelling the sweet scent of roses.

"I love you."

He smiled against her temple. His hand tangled itself into her wild, morning curls and tugged at the base to expose her neck as well as pull her far enough away from him that he could meet her eyes.

"Well, it's about damn time."

She flicked his ear and frowned at him, but her pout only made him chuckle in delight.

"I love you, too." He amended, giving her a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.

"I have a question," Hermione said after a moment of comfortable silence and trailing her finger in circles around his bare chest.

"Of course, you do." He commented. "Go on,"

"What do we put in a contract for a real relationship?"

He blinked several times, then stopped to consider an answer that would not result in another flick of punishment for him.

"Nothing. You _trust_ each other." He paused, arching a brow at her. "You going to break my heart, Granger?"

She smirked, "You going to break mine, Malfoy?"

**Author's Note:**

> This story, along with others in the collection, were originally posted on my FFN (same author name) and can be found there with my other stories, though I intend to slowly move everything over to AO3.
> 
> PS - Imaginary House points to you if you correctly identified the pop culture references. The two films were The Breakfast Club and Pulp Fiction with the song they danced to being Almost is Never Enough by Ariana Grande.


End file.
